The Complication
by eclecticLibra
Summary: His eyes flashed playfully in Carlisle's direction, his impossibly blue eyes. Carlisle stared. How could this be? "Malakai...?" The other vampire just winked, flashed another dazzling smile and was gone. T for innuendo and language.
1. Blue Eyes

Disclaimer: _Twilight_ and it's characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. Malakai Ross, however, does not.

xoxoxoxo**  
Blue Eyes**

The air in the Urgent Care waiting room was stuffy and unpleasant; sick and injured, young to old, patient or not, people filled more space than there were chairs available. They crowded around each other, leaning against windows, reading old magazine, coughing, bleeding, sleeping. Some of them had been waiting hours, more were just arriving. And they just kept coming. It was all the staff at St Mary's could do to keep up. Doctor Carlisle Cullen stood silently just beyond the door leading to the Emergency Room, his bright eyes sweeping over the packed room, and sighed. Northern Wisconsin certainly had more than its fair share of Bella Swans.

Bella. Her name brought back painful memories. Time and distance had done nothing to lessen the pain and anguish he felt―they all felt, Edward especially―when they had fled Forks, Washington four years ago. It was too easy to blame someone: Alice hadn't seen them. Jasper hadn't felt them. Edward hadn't heard them coming. And then in the blink of an eye it had gone up in a gulf of flames, and Carlisle had been unable to get them all out. Carlisle ran a cool hand through his perfect golden hair and put it out of his mind. It didn't do any good thinking about it now; there were still patients to medicate.

Eighty-eight-year-old Hector Wallace was sure to need a refill on his Vicodin after his back surgery. And Mrs. Calvin needed to be re-convinced that her seventeen-year-old daughter would indeed wake up after the anesthetic wore off.

"Dr. Cullen?" a starry-eyed nurse squeaked, blushing when he offered a helpful smile. Carlisle always had to remind himself that humans never got used to his unnatural beauty. "Um, Mrs. Hudson . . ."

"Oh, of course," Carlisle rescued the poor girl, smiling again. "Thank you. Will you tell her I'll only be a moment, please?"

The nurse nodded, red ponytail bobbing, and walked off in a daze.

Francine Hudson was seventy-two and in need of a new hip, though she certainly didn't let that stop her from "raising hell", as she put it. The orderlies had a slightly different term for it.

He sighed again. It was going to be a long morning.

* * *  
Six hours and a sleeping Mrs. Hudson later, Carlisle was ready to call it a day. Not because he was tired―he was never tired―but his heart just didn't feel in it today. The feeling was new to him, foreign. He loved what he did. Even if his patients weren't always the easiest people to get along with, he at least knew he did something worthwhile. But after Bella had been kidnapped, it almost didn't seem worth it. It didn't seem right that the nine of them (Renesmee and Jacob were still with them) went around as if nothing had happened. Of course, they couldn't go around telling everyone that they had just barely escaped certain death (premeditated by the highly lethal, slightly vindictive vampire version of the Italian mafia) in Washington.

None of them wanted Jane, or Felix, or any of them, really, to knock on the door of 1097 anytime soon. They had to remain inconspicuous. That's why they had to flee Forks. That's why they had to pretend to be normal. That's why Carlisle had taken a quiet job in Green Bay.

Speaking of jobs, Carlisle still had a few forms to fill out, waivers to authorize, and medication to dole out before he thought about clocking out early.

He leaned against Mrs. Hudson's propped open door, thankful the meds hadn't worn off quite yet, and thumbed through the stack of papers still on his clipboard. He held back a sigh.

"Doctor Carlisle," a lightly accented voice called off his right shoulder.

"I'll be with you in a moment," Carlisle responded automatically. He clicked his pen open to sign his name.

A ghostly pale hand closed suddenly over his, smudging his signature, as a voice, the same voice, purred in his ear, "Somehow, you're even sexier than I remember."

Caught completely off guard by the unexpected U-turn the conversation had taken, Carlisle was―for once in his long life―at a loss for words. He stared down at fingers as white as his own, and his mind went blank.

A peel of quiet velvety laughter escaped his faceless assailant then, and his hand was freed.

That laugh!

"Malakai!" he exclaimed, turning sharply around.

The vampire laughed again, his eyes crinkled shut as he scratched the back of his head. "I keeping thinking you'll deck me one of these days," the vampire confessed, staring pointedly at his shoes now. "Then, of course, I remember it's you."

Laughing a little, Carlisle looked over his old friend with new warmth and shook his head slowly.

Taller than Carlisle by an inch or so with hair the color of onyx, the twenty-something vampire was more Botticelli angel than man. His even red lips parted over his stark white teeth in a perfect smile as he toyed with his (no doubt expensive) cuff links. If there was anyone who dressed to be noticed, it was certainly Malakai. His soft gray blazer (the finest silk, naturally) lay atop a classic white Oxford (nothing but Armani would do), a paisley pocket square poking out beneath his finely-cut lapel. In all the time Carlisle had known him, he had never seen Malakai do anything half way, right down to his shoes. Lavender Converse high-top sneakers (probably vintage) sitting beneath a pair of slim-fitting dark wash designer denim finished his wardrobe for today. Clearly he had no reason to be inconspicuous.

"I was hoping I might speak with you," Malakai informed him, inspecting his flawless fingernails intently.

"You've caught me at a bit of a bad time," Carlisle admitted, tapping his clipboard. A thousand questions pushed to be answered, but Carlisle knew now was neither the time nor the place. He tried to piece together a scenario that would make Malakai come here. Come now. Nothing came to mind. The last time he had seen Malakai, they hadn't been on the best of terms. To be honest, he had hardly thought of the man since they parted shortly before the Civil War. Whatever he had come for, it couldn't be good.

Malakai stared down the bustling hallway, oblivious to the curious eyes watching them. "I asked the girl at the desk―"

"Cheryl."

"Right. Cheryl." Malakai shoved his hands in his designer pockets, looking at his shoes again. "She said you're on break soon?"

"Yes," Carlisle said, aware that Malakai was avoiding his eye. "Is ten minutes all right? I have some things to finish, but you're welcome to wait for me in the break room."

Malakai laughed lightly, the same velvet laughed Carlisle remembered from all those years ago. "Just tell me where I can find the A positive and I'll happily wait." His eyes flashed playfully in Carlisle's direction.

His impossibly blue eyes.

Carlisle stared. "Malakai . . ."

"Ten minutes," his friend reminded swiftly and disappeared in a blur.


	2. Tiny Toy Cars

**Tiny Toy Cars**

Carlisle couldn't concentrate on his work after that. The last time he had seen Malakai, Victoria was still the queen of England. Now, almost two hundred years later he had shown up in tiny-town Wisconsin with blue eyes? It had to be some sort of trick. Had to be. But hadn't his skin felt almost warm? And hadn't he smelled somehow different?

Unfortunately, it was one thing after another at St. Mary's and ten minutes turned into twenty which inevitably stretched out over an hour before Carlisle could finally make his escape.

Malakai wasn't hiding in the blood bank as Carlisle thought. He hadn't been to the break room either. Ever calm, Carlisle followed the trail of swooning women out of the building where his anxiety suddenly melted away, replaced with a smirk.

A tiny red convertible, more of an over-sized toy than an actual car, sat in a clearly marked handicapped spot, music blaring. It looked like one of a kind and, knowing Malakai, it probably was. As for Malakai, he was sprawled across the front seat, one sneakered foot keeping time out the driver's side window, the other crooked against the steering wheel. His head lolled out the passenger side, sunglasses reminiscent of The King, singing in harmony to one of the classics. He had never been one to be subtle.

The absurdity of it all caused Carlisle to miss one small detail. He didn't sparkle. A break in the clouds sent a shaft of sunshine cascading into the parking lot, and he didn't sparkle.

"That was far longer than ten minutes," Malakai pointed out when Carlisle, who had to wait for the sun to disappear behind the clouds before he could venture across the open parking lot, came up. "You're damn lucky I found a station that plays decent music." He touched a button on the dash and the song cut off. "What kept you?"

Carlisle didn't respond. He had to see.

"Hey! Careful with the shades!" Malakai twisted around, fixing Carlisle with a 'break them you're dead' glare.

"Your eyes—"

Malakai let out an exasperated breath. "Don't think I don't know. I've noticed the same thing." His accent made the words sharp. "What kept you?"

"How—?"

"Look," he said, impatient as he snatched back his sunglasses. "I don't think this is the best place. What kept you?"

"Damage control," Carlisle said finally, still unable to take his eyes off his friend's.

It started to rain, a light, cool mist.

"Damage control?" Malakai let out a low laugh. "Oh, you mean me." He hit another button and the roof unfolded itself out of the trunk. "You know, I actually thought about that. Well, afterward, at least. Sorry if you thought I was going to rape you."

Carlisle caught himself before he said something stupid like "That's all right" and started to say—but Malakai was leaning out the passenger window talking again.

"What did you tell them?"

"That you are my estranged step-brother whom I haven't seen since our father died twelve years ago."

Malakai considered this a moment. "Serves the bastard right."

"You also happen to suffer from ADD."

"Huh," the vampire started to say, but changed his mind and said "Aren't you getting wet?" instead.

Carlisle just shook his head and changed the subject. "Nice car. What year?" He wanted to ask him something else, about how he didn't glitter, but his inbred courtesy wouldn't allow for it. Not yet.

"It's a '76." The blue-eyed vampire grinned widely, obviously proud of it. He slid over into the driver seat and tapped the steering wheel restlessly. "Now, I know you don't really want to talk cars. Do you live very far?"

Carlisle didn't answer right away. He wasn't sure if he wanted Malakai at his house. How was he supposed to explain this to everyone? To Esme? Since Bella's disappearance, things hadn't exactly been the same, and he wasn't sure if he wanted his friend around his family when they had recently lost someone. He wasn't sure if they would appreciate Malakai's cheerful demeanor. But then again, he couldn't say no. Even if Malakai was occasionally self-absorbed and un-sympathetic, his "condition"—whatever it was—was unlike anything Carlisle had ever seen. As much as it went against his better judgment, he had to know. He had to know why.

"No," he said finally. "I don't live very far."

Malakai smiled his perfect smile. "Perfect."

Carlisle glanced anxiously in the rear-view mirror of his Benz every few seconds as they wound their way up the Door Peninsula, fearful that Malakai might spontaneously combust. There was no such thing as blue-eyed vampires. They didn't exist. Unless there was some new aquatic life diet he didn't know about. It didn't seem likely. Even if there was, Malakai didn't seem the type to give up seducing pretty humans for a pair of baby blues. Besides, they were humanly blue.

Whatever was wrong with him, he didn't burst into flames as Carlisle turned onto the private drive. He appeared perfectly at ease, following leisurely behind Carlisle, the stereo of his MGB thumping again. Then again, Malakai always appeared perfectly at ease on the surface. It was damn annoying sometimes, too.

The hidden drive off Highway 42 seemed to wind way up the tall sloping hill for miles. Towering elms and spruce pines, sturdy maples, and old oaks bowed over them on either side, throwing deep green shadows over everything as the two cars crunched up the steep gravel drive. It finally spit them out at the top of the hill where a tall, window-filled house waited quietly. Silvery-gray with a steep roof to ward off the thick Wisconsin snows, the house glowed faintly in the early afternoon sun peeking timidly between dark clouds.

Surrounded on every side by trees, the house looked cozy, despite its size. Easily three stories, it came with an expansive garage to the left and a deep welcoming front porch wrapped around to the right. An impressive view of Lake Michigan glittered at the bottom of the hill behind the house, hardly a mile away. It was stunning.

Carlisle parked his Mercedes in the garage and joined Malakai, un-sparkling, in the sun.

Malakai leaned against the hood of his ridiculous car, the top down again, and let out a low whistle. "Classy place," he said, looking appreciatively at the house.

"Thank you."

"You live here alone?" Malakai asked offhandedly, striding up the front steps behind him as Carlisle let open the door.

"I'll introduce you to Esme."

Malakai looked slowly around, taking in the large front hall, the high ceiling, the curving staircase. Carlisle watched him, hands on his hips, head cocked slightly to the right. It reminded him of the first time they had met. That happy, curious look. He really hadn't changed at all. Except for the eyes, of course.

Malakai caught him looking and grinned, his peculiar blue eyes dancing. "You know, I've been trying to track you down for months," Malakai told him. "I got a lead while I was in Chicago that you lived in Washington. _Washington_." He said it like they were speaking of some horrible disease."Of course, everyone there told me you were dead." He made a face. "I . . . can't even begin to describe how unwelcome that news was."

"I'm sorry you had trouble finding us," Carlisle found himself apologizing as he led him through the house and out the back door where Esme was tending to her daisies on the deck. Washington. If there was one thing they all wanted to undo . . .

"Finding whom?" Esme asked, brushing her dark curls back from her face. A smile broke across her face when she caught sight of the unfamiliar face. "Oh, hello."

Malakai smiled from the doorway, watching Carlisle place a soft kiss on Esme's cheek.

"Esme, this is Malakai," Carlisle explained, guiding her away from her flowers. "Malakai, my wife, Esme."

"Esme," Malakai murmured pleasantly. He pressed his lips to her fingers briefly, playing the part of the perfect English gentlemen wonderfully. "Carlisle's other half. I hope you don't mind the intrusion."

Esme's laughed echoed beautifully through the leaves as she laced her fingers through Carlisle's. "Not at all," she began, but stopped. "How did you come by such surprising eyes?"

"I wish I knew," Malakai sighed, looking wistful. "That's why I'm here; I figured if anyone knew Carlisle would."

Carlisle looked at the man, his eyes tight. He had no idea what could be wrong—if anything. But Malakai had such a winning smile it was hard to let him down. It had always been hard.

"You have a beautiful home," Malakai was saying conversationally. "Is it just the two of you?"

"Thank you. Four years in and I'm still not finished with it," Esme admitted. "And no, there are more of us."

"Esme designed the house herself, is what she means to say," Carlisle corrected, earning himself a quick jab in the ribs.

"No kidding?" Malakai looked impressed. "Well, hell, I think I'll have to fire my architect and hire you instead."

Esme laughed again and shook her head. "Oh, no, it's only a hobby. You wouldn't want me." She looked reproachfully at Carlisle. "Now, I'm sure the two of you have better things to do than stand here all day chatting with me."

"We'll let you get back to your flowers," Carlisle agreed and kissed the top of her head.

"Lovely meeting you," Malakai added before he disappeared inside after Carlisle.


	3. Absolutely Lovely

**Absolutely Lovely**

"Married," Malakai marveled aloud, an odd smile playing over his face as they walked toward the tall stairs. "You don't seem the type."

Carlisle ignored his remarks and led him upstairs to his office. Shelves of books wrapped around the room, books not looked at for years, silently collecting dust. An intricately carved desk stood on clawed feet in the center of the room, darkened beautifully with age. The large west-facing window kept the room pleasantly warm on sunny afternoons. Carlisle offered him the leather armchair as he shut the door securely behind them. It felt strange leading Malakai around. Usually Malakai was the one dragging Carlisle everywhere: Manchester, Oxford, France, Russia, Africa once.

"She's absolutely perfect for you, of course," Malakai qualified, thumbing over the rows of books instead. Anything to delay what he knew was coming. "She's lovely. Absolutely lovely. I've never seen anything like it."

"Thank you." Carlisle sat behind his old desk, waiting for the man to run out of scapegoats. Now that he was here, Malakai couldn't find anything he wanted to talk about less. "I don't think I fully understand what you want from me, precisely. Why don't you sit down?"

Malakai sighed dramatically, dragged the only other chair across the floor, and sat it down directly in front of Carlisle's desk with a "have it your way" shrug.

He sat down. "My eyes are blue," he stated firmly as if he had just announced for the first time that the Earth was in fact round.

"Yes."

"Why are they blue?"

There was a tense moment of silence as they stared at each other. Malakai posed the question again, his voice strained. Carlisle chose his words carefully. "I don't know."

Malakai raked a hand through his dark hair and groaned. It was the first time Carlisle had seen him genuinely distressed. "Aren't you supposed to know about these things? You're a doctor, right?"

The doctor shook his head. "I work with humans. I really couldn't . . . Maybe you should start from the beginning."

"All right, all right, all right," Malakai breathed. He tried to think. "I wouldn't even know . . ."

"When did you notice something was different?"

"A few months ago. Maybe a year," Malakai confessed quietly, flexing his fingers uneasily. He couldn't sit still. He started pacing restlessly, trying to come up with the best words. "It's not only my eyes, either."

Carlisle turned his old chair to get a better look at him. He remembered the parking lot that morning. "What do you mean?"

"Touch me."

"I have. Your skin—"

"No." Malakai appeared suddenly very close to Carlisle's chair, his frustration radiating off him like waves. Carlisle sat very still (his first instinct whenever Malakai got uncomfortably close), his gold eyes never leaving the anxious blues that looked like they might start crying. "Here."

"I don't . . ." Carlisle started to protest.

"Just shut up and listen!" Malakai shushed, pressing Carlisle's hand close against his heart. "Please."

Carlisle listened. He waited. He looked up at Malakai, perplexed. He had no idea what he was supposed to be listening— He felt something move beneath his hand, and there was a soft noise, faint yet powerful.

_Thump thump_


	4. Alive

**4. Alive**  
_Malakai_

I closed my eyes.

My heart thumped once. For a brief second I felt my arteries open, trying to send blood to parts of my body that didn't need it. I felt my muscles contract. I felt my breath catch.

I felt like throwing up.

It had happened only a handful of times before—the first maybe five months ago—and it terrified me. Every time, I thought I would die. Rather, _could_ die.

Carlisle snapped his hand back as if it were on fire, his breath sharp, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I had been expecting this reaction, prepared myself for it even. All the same, the instinctive repulsion in his eyes made me want to cry. He would be all over that if I cried now, I thought with a bitter smile. I took a deep breath and straightened up, waiting for him to say something, anything. Anything but look at me with those eyes!

I took a few steps away from him, trembling all over. I waited for him to confirm what I already feared.

"I can't believe it . . ." he murmured. I could see all is logical explanations disappearing fast. He saw it, too, and stared back at me. "You're . . . alive."

My knees gave out. Alive. So I wasn't mad after all—though I felt sure I would go out of my mind. Alive. I wanted to cry. I heard Carlisle move out of his chair. More than anything else, I wanted to be able to wrap my arms around him and have a good long cry.

He seemed to sense this and kept a respectable distance. "'Kai," he said softly, crouching down.

He hadn't called me that in a long time. Sure it was some clever ploy to distract me from my woes, I shot him a glare before he could say some reassuring bullshit we both knew wouldn't change anything. I brushed angrily at my dry eyes. I didn't need reassuring bullshit.

"You're blushing," he said. I couldn't pinpoint his tone. Amused, perhaps? Or incredulous? I didn't like it. His hand reached up to touch my cheek. Grudgingly, I allowed it.

"I'm pissed off," I grumbled, staring moodily at the floor. I slid my cool gaze over him. He didn't seem to be looking directly at me, but beyond me. No doubt off somewhere in his sick imagination.

"What for?" he asked as if I'd said something illogical.

I was floored. Why wouldn't I be pissed? Didn't being alive essentially mean I was dying? "Carlisle. I don't think you get it. I'm turning human."

"Yes, I see that," he said politely.

"I don't want to."

Again with that confused expression. "Why not?"

"Why the fuck would I?" I half shouted, jumping up in my anguish. I was livid. I couldn't even begin . . .

Carlisle stood up as well, his usual calm self. I help up my hands before he could open his mouth. I knew what was coming. Some big, moral-laced "second chance" speech that I wasn't interested in. At all.

"Wait," I pleaded. "Just hold on a minute. I want you to do something for me."

"Of course."

He was making me nervous standing so still.

"Sit down."

He did. My nerves seemed to relax.

"Tell me you're sorry."

Carlisle blinked, puzzled by my request. "What am I apologizing for?"

"Just say it," I snapped.

"I'm sorry."

I collapsed into my chair, one leg crooked over the side, breathing a little easier. Two for two. I wondered how long I could keep this streak up. "I want you to fix me."

"Malakai—"

"No." I shook my head quickly. "Listen."

He looked to be having a hard time with these simple instructions.

"I want you to know that I understand what you're probably thinking. I know how you wish you could somehow cure this, I don't know, disease you think we have. And I know the fact that it's happening to me without me wanting it is driving you crazy, but . . . I don't care." I couldn't bear to look him in the eye when the words came out. I didn't want to say them, but I felt I had to. "I only want you to fix me. It's nothing personal."

There was a long pause after that. Feeling guilty, I stole a glance at him. He didn't look as heartbroken as I anticipated, just thoughtful.

"Well," Carlisle said, managing to sound only minimally disappointed, "I'll certainly try."

"I appreciate it."

"Of course, before we figure out a way—if there is one—to reverse this, I think we should start with what could cause something like this."

"I have no idea." Nothing came to mind. Nothing that made any sense, at least.

Carlisle drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, thinking.

I watched them, just as I had when I had first been changed. He always came to drum his beautiful fingers on the fireplace mantle in my large parlor, trying to get me to see things his way. Carlisle took it upon himself to teach me everything about this life. I never have the pleasure of knowing my sire until much later in life (I had been abandoned), and, in a way, I guess I ended up adopting Carlisle. He hadn't been too happy about it, but I liked him immediately. Anyway, he said a lot of things back then I didn't understand—mostly because I was always too busy seducing pretty girls to pay him much attention, partly because I didn't agree with him. I couldn't see what was so wrong about living an eternity in the lap of luxury and I told him, repeatedly, he had merely been born in the wrong century. But then Carlisle would roll his eyes at me, claiming that my attitude was precisely the reason why the nineteenth century had ended in disrepair. I was always laughing at him back then.

I laughed now. "Here, Carlisle, let's play a game. You'll be the doctor and I'll be the patient," I said, my tantrum quickly dissolving. "I promise to be a good patient and answer all your questions. Go ahead, Doctor."

Carlisle didn't find it as funny as I did. He never did. "All right. Why don't we start with your diet?"

"Why don't you try asking me what I was doing before I jumped you in the hospital?" I cast him a wicked smile. "C'mon. Guess what I was doing last night."

He couldn't help but smile a little. "You were seducing a perfectly innocent young woman, I'm sure."

I grinned, enjoying this new game. "Depends on your definition of innocent. What did I do after that?"

"You tried to seduce a perfectly innocent young man?" Carlisle guessed, mostly kidding. He ran a pale hand through his hair as I laughed.

"Again, he really wasn't that innocent. Charming and incredibly shy, but certainly not innocent in the traditional sense." It had been a good night. A very good night.

"Anything unusual about your victims?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't call them victims, Carlisle. You know I rarely ever kill them. Most of them enjoy it." The two last night certainly had.

He never liked to hear about the way I hunted, but I never tired of watching him squirm. He cut in before I could go on. "Anything unusual about them?"

I thought seriously about this one. Perhaps there could be some pattern to my eating habits I was missing.

Now that you mention it . . . For the past few months, I've been feeding off addicts." I smacked myself in the face, cracking up even as I slid down in my chair. "Oh god! Don't tell me it's the drugs! If it's drugs, then . . . Oh, geez!"

I heard Carlisle laugh once. "I doubt it's the drugs."

I pulled myself back up and leaned across the desk, resting my head against the palm of my hand. "It could be the drugs."

He looked curious.

"You remember Woodstock, don't you? Summer of '69."

"I wasn't there, but I read about it in the papers. Is this really relevant?"

"You missed out."

"So they tell me." He sat back, folding his arms loosely across his chest. "I take it you went."

I was surprised he even had to ask. "Of course I went! It was 'Three days of Peace and Music' and everyone was stoned out of their minds. Why wouldn't I be there? You should have been there! So many pretty girls . . ." I trailed off wistfully, oblivious to whatever look he was giving me now.

"Anyway," I continued, snapping back. "It was splendid. All of it except my housemate, Howard. I'd only met him a few years earlier, and I suppose we were friends for a bit. Then he just got annoying. One of those cute, clingy types. I don't know how many times I told him to go away, but he never got the hint. Finally, I told him to meet me at some big purple van, and I haven't seen him since. Poor bastard."

"You're terrible."

"You didn't know Howard," I reminded him, pleased that he was still pretending to be interested. "As I said, everyone was stoned out of their minds so no one really noticed that we weren't exactly human. I mean, you couldn't see your hand in front of your face in some places it was so choked with smoke. I remember because I bumped into some guy tripping on acid. I think his name was Brad.

"And the first thing he says to me, wasted out of his mind, no less, was 'Whoa, dude! You're, like, totally on fire!' And he seized me by the arms and wouldn't let go." I laughed at the memory. "Despite his scruffy beard-thing and his urgent need for a shower, he wasn't at all bad looking. I thanked him, and pried off his hands but he wouldn't have it. 'Hey, dude, what's the rush?' He stumbled around a bit, laughing as he called to his friends 'Get this guy a beer!' before pressing a joint in my hand. 'Ya gotta be mellow, maaan.'"

I stopped. Carlisle was laughing.

"You're joking, right? That's ridiculous."

I fought a smile, trying to look serious. "You don't joke about Brad," I said slowly, losing. ""No, that's really what happened. A few hours later, I let him to lead me into his small tent. I'll let you imagine the details, but he kept going on and on about how I kept changing colors and kept trying to undress me—but then, a lot of people do, so I wasn't terribly surprised. Then again, there's only so much ecstasy a person can take before their brain starts to shut down. He ate it like candy. But, you know, I suppose it didn't help that I kept feeding it to him. I only remember thinking 'what a dissatisfying way to die' before I bit him. Then I blacked out."

"Blacked out?"

"So I assumed since someone woke me the next morning."

"That's bizarre."

I pulled a small fuzz off my jacket sleeve. "Very."

"Well, I doubt that incident has anything to do with your current . . . condition." He was quiet for a moment.

I took the opportunity to bring up another subject. "I think—well, no, I know—that they've all been A positive. At least since—" I couldn't believe I was going to say this. "It's a bit embarrassing to say, actually."

"It isn't uncommon for vampires to prefer a certain blood type. Most do, in fact."

"No, it's not even that."

"What is it then?"

"It's more like I can't digest anything else."

Carlisle looked like he needed a better explanation. I sighed.

"What I mean is two or three months ago, closer to two now that I think about it, I had just finished for the night and I was walking home alone, thank God, when I got this horrible feeling in my stomach, like I was going to throw up, and then, well, I did. She was O, if I remember right."

"But A positive doesn't bother you?"

I shook my head. "Not in the least."

"That's very strange," he said. "Why A positive though?"

"I have a theory," I said. He looked interested. "Have you ever noticed that certain blood types generally give off a certain smell? O usually smells floral; AB is generally very sweet-smelling. And then I remembered that a very long time ago someone mentioned I smelled like apples. So I experimented and come to find out A positive people tend to smell a little fruity. Go figure."

"That's a very interesting theory." I could tell he was starting to formulate some big plan to test it. "I can't say I've ever drawn the connection between blood type and smell."

"I only really noticed it after I wretched up lilacs." I heard a noise downstairs. "Was that the front door?"

"Yes. Excuse me." He crossed the room and opened to door. "I think the first thing to do is—"

"Wait," I said, snapping the door shut again before he had a chance to slip out. "This means you'll help me?"

"Only if you let me out."

I laughed in relief. I could have kissed him. "Do you have any idea how much I absolutely love you right now?"

"I can guess," he said as he passed out of the room ahead of me. I followed him until he stopped me at the top of the stairs.

I could hear snippets of conversation coming in from the back porch:

"Whose car is that?"

"Jazz, did you see the sound system in that thing?"

"I bet it's faster than your Porsche, Alice."

"Someone came to see Carlisle," Esme's soft voice explained, shooing away their questions. "I'm sure they'll be down soon. How was school?"

I was pleased these voices were so taken with my car. I wanted to meet them. I wondered why we were waiting. I looked to Carlisle, only to see he had been trying to tell me something.

"Sorry. What?"

"I said I want you to know I'm mostly doing this out of my own curiosity, partly because you asked."

"Fine." I was distracted. It didn't really matter to me what his reasons were, so long as he did it. "How big is your coven, anyway? Do I get to meet them or are you hoarding me to yourself? Are you really the leader?"

"It's nine now," he said quietly, disregarding my other questions.

The way he said it, I took it to mean they had lost numbers. As much as I wanted to, it didn't seem like the right time to ask for details. I managed to keep my questions to myself and respond with only minimal interest. "Nine, huh?"

He was back to playing the good host. "You'll behave, right?"

"Don't I always?" I laughed, tripping lightly down the stairs behind him.


	5. Indecent

**Indecent**  
_Carlisle_

Nothing could have prepared me for it—not even one of Alice's visions. Malakai was the last person I expected to show up at my work dressed like he'd just stepped out of GQ and be so natural about it. Then again, Malakai was the only person I knew with that kind of audacity.

I hadn't seen him in—what was it? two hundred years? a hundred and eighty?—a long time. To be honest, I hadn't thought much about him since we went our separate ways. Only in the last few hours did everything come rushing back to me.

He used to joke that we were perfect for each other, that we were the best "old married couple" he'd ever seen. I jokingly agreed with him sometimes; when he wasn't busy telling me to loosen up, I was busy telling him to grow up. Often I would wonder aloud why I put up with his idiocy. "Because you love me, of course," he always answered.

I think that I should clarify something first: I do not have, and never have had, romantic feelings for Malakai in any sense of the word. I'll admit that I was captivated by him in the beginning. The way he moved. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he went right on living his human life, preying on his human friends with all the seductive cunning of, well, a vampire.

He enjoyed it immensely. Like he had been born for it.

It didn't much matter to him. Men or women, young or old, good or bad. He picked his victims on ever-changing criteria, and blood was all he could want. So long as it fit his tastes.

That isn't to say he was cruel or heartless. He was nothing if not the gentleman. Malakai took great care that his meals never suffered. And, as he said, he rarely killed anyone. I always imagined they woke up the next morning in a daze, as if waking from a vivid dream. Then I imagine their faces burned bright red, feeling guilty for dreaming about Malakai doing something indecent, guilty that they wanted it.

He was right on that, too. A lot of people wanted to undress him.

Something about him—his handsome face, no doubt, his charming demeanor, his musical voice, his flattering words—drew people to him. Like moths to a flame. They wanted him as much as he needed them.

It was his gift, in a sense. He was good at making people fall in love with him.

He tried it on me once. I was sure he was trying again. That was my first thought the morning I felt his lips on my ear. My only logical one, at least. A classic Malakai move. I could understand that. I could even ignore it. Despite his persistence.

I thought my immunity to his "gift" would annoy him enough to leave me alone. It didn't. He was adamant in his quest to make friends with me.

I marveled at the stories he told, the parties he threw and the people he fed off. I realized that first night that he and I inhabited different worlds. His was one of charm and a carefully placed phrase, mine bleak and shabby in comparison.

I had thought to return to my hometown one last time before I left it for America. I only expected to stay for the winter, maybe through the spring. Just long enough to say my goodbyes. Before I knew it, winter had gone and come again and I was busy being a doctor. London had never been one for mild winters, but I couldn't remember when it had last been as cold as it was in 1836.


	6. A Convenient Coincidence

**A Convenient Coincidence**  
_Carlisle_

At eight o'clock on Tuesday, I took a call from the Constable's home. His twenty-five-year-old daughter and bride-to-be had suddenly and mysteriously taken ill.

I came around the corner that cold November night to find him leaning against a street lamp outside their house, waiting for me. I could tell by the intensity in his dark red eyes that he was both very young and very thirsty. That put me on my guard immediately.

He smiled, showing all his white teeth. "Good evening, Doctor," he said pleasantly.

"Good evening," I replied coolly. Our eyes met for the briefest instant as I walked deftly past. I didn't want to know how he knew I was a doctor.

I kept my back to him as I knocked at the Constable's door. I was sure I had left him out in the cold, that he wouldn't dare prey on this family while I remained. After all, only an idiot . . .

"Is Clara sleeping?" the dark-haired vampire asked quickly when the door opened. He was up the steps and through the door before I could say a word. They knew him?

He removed his fur-lined gloves as he stepped over the threshold a step ahead of me and shoved the gloves into the pockets of his fur-trimmed cloak before discarding that as well.

Even back then, his dress was always flawless. His boots always shone, his collars were stiff, his ties in good taste. He was always at the height of fashion. All the other young men in town wanted to dress like him. Act like him. Be him. Even for a vampire he was breathtaking.

"No," the Constable answered in a gruff tone, shutting the door to keep out the cold. His dark mustache, the only distinguishing feature on his long face, twitched when he spoke. "Thank you for coming, Doctor. Malakai, will you show the doctor up? Clara will be happy to see you."

"Of course, Sam. Of course." He nodded graciously, cleverly avoiding my stabbing gaze. "Doctor?"

I followed behind him as we scaled the creaky stairs at a human pace, a little stunned that he was on a first-name basis with Constable Greene. "I've seen you before," he said only loud enough for me to hear. "I like what you do. I couldn't quite make sense of it at first . . . but I think I understand it now."

I caught myself wondering what he thought he "understood" before I remembered I didn't like him.

"What exactly—"

"—am I doing here?" he guessed. He paused at the top of the steps, the smallest smile crossing his lips. "To meet you, of course."

"What about Clara?" I asked hotly, pushing past him to the girl's room. His sincerity unnerved me. Why would he want to meet me? What was he doing here?

He had a laugh like silver. "A convenient coincidence, I assure. She's . . . a friend."

I doubted it.

I opened the door on a small, bright, and uncomfortably warm bedroom. A fire blazed brightly in the small hearth. Propped up with pillows under a mountain of thick quilts, lay a pale and fragile Clara. Her face was flushed and, despite her warm cocoon, she was shivering. I only had to listen to her rasping breath to know she didn't have long.

"Clara," her "friend" sighed softly, gliding to her side. He took her hand. "How are you feeling?"

Clara smiled weakly, her brown eyes gazing hazily up at him. "I'm . . . feeling a little better," she managed to whisper before doubling over in a fit of coughing. She didn't look like she would last much longer.

I set my medical bag on the mattress on her other side, waiting for him to leave so I could do my job in peace.

"I brought a doctor to see you," he went on before I could introduce myself. "Doctor Carlisle. He'll be very careful."

His small half-smiled made me wonder if there wasn't some double meaning to his words I was missing. Clara smiled warily at me before her eyes flicked back to Malakai, who was still talking. He talked the entire time I worked. I tried to tune him out, focus instead on getting her pulse, her temperature, her symptoms. But it was impossible.

"I am so very sorry, Clara," he kept saying, over and over like a broken record. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have kept you out so late. Will you forgive me?"

Finally Clara shook her head weakly, her eyes closing with fatigue. "No, Malakai, I don't blame you . . ."

We both felt her heartbeat slow as she drifted to sleep. Her lungs wheezed with the effort, too tired, it seemed, to go on.

"How is she, Doctor?"

I put down my stethoscope—I didn't need it anyway—and looked up. His eyes were tight with worry, but I couldn't tell if he really cared for her or if this was just some kind of show.

"She has pneumonia from what I can gather." I hesitated before going on. "There's not much I can do."

He looked at her longingly and sighed. "You won't bleed her?"

"There's no need. It would only make her weaker," I said. "The best thing for her is . . . Wait."

_Disgusting_.

He took a blurred step and was by my side, uncomfortably close. "I'm not here for that!" He made a face and laughed. "It has been a while, though."

With another quiet laugh, he flashed out of the room and down the stairs. I packed up my things and cast one final look at Clara. Nothing I could prescribe her would do her any good. Even if she could make it through the winter, poor girl, the chances of her making it through another were slim.

The Constable was waiting in the front hall, looking exhausted. He asked how I thought Clara would fare through the next few weeks. I told him what could be done for her, forgetting to add that it was probably useless. He nodded his head slowly. He seemed to know it was useless, too. I shrugged into my coat and hesitated at the door. My curiosity got the best of me.

"Constable, if you could, how does that man know Clara? He mentioned they were friends."

His eyes were moist with grief when he looked at me. "Oh, yes. They've been inseparable ever since his family moved in from the country when Malakai was twelve. The best of friends."

"What does his family do?"

"His mother passed five years ago, bless her, and old Professor Ross still teaches at Oxford, I believe. Why do you ask?"

I shook my head. "He's rather peculiar, isn't he?"

The Constable laughed a little. "Very strange indeed. But Clara dotes on him."

"I'm sorry I was unable to do more for her." I wrapped my scarf around my neck and stepped out.

It shouldn't have surprised me to find him waiting for me.

"Doctor," he greeted, materializing out of a dark alley before I had taken three steps.

A soft groan came from behind him. I looked from Malakai to the alley and back again. I noticed his eyes weren't as dark as before.

"You—!" I hissed.

He grinned like we were old friends. "What kept you?" he asked.


	7. Call Me Carlisle

**"Call Me Carlisle"**  
_Carlisle_

I tried to maneuver around him, to attempt to help the faceless victim in the alley. I couldn't let him die if I could help it. Malakai caught me around the arm and wouldn't let go. His eyes were curious as I struggled to get free. He waited until the victim's heart stopped before he released me. I knew there was nothing I could do for the dead man, but I crouched down next to the lifeless body anyway. He looked young underneath his dark beard and dirty battered coat, but that didn't matter now that he was dead.

I felt sick to my stomach as I got to my feet. "Why—"

"Your eyes," he cut in swiftly, staring at me intently. His nose hovered an inch from mine. "How are they gold?"

I took an automatic step back, startled.

He didn't wait for my answer, already moving on. He had an uncanny ability to change the subject. "Will you walk with me, Doctor?"

No.

"I own a house down the street, you know."

No.

He frowned at my silence and tipped his head to one side. "Aren't you at all curious about me, Doctor?"

I pressed my lips into a tight line. Of course I was curious. But that was beside the point, wasn't it? He had just ended a man's life, hadn't he? And there wasn't hint of remorse on his beautiful face. He had the nerve to prey on a sick girl—a friend, no less—and laugh it off? There was no way I was going anywhere with him for any length of time.

"You must be curious," he went on, closing the distance between us again. I took another step back. "You know, I've never met another"—he had trouble saying the word—"vampire quite like you."

I stared at him for another second. I couldn't stand having him so close. "I could say the same," I said without thinking, my mind buzzing. Instantly, I regretted it, knowing he would figure it to be a compliment. I didn't want him to think my opinion of him had changed. He was an incorrigible ass.

He laughed. "Doctor, you flatter me."

We started walking. I didn't want to and I didn't agree to it, but we started walking. Something pulled me along beside him, almost as if he had a magnet in his pocket.

I realize now that he had something I didn't, something I wanted. He was happy. Pure, uncompromisable happiness bubbled out of him like a fountain of cheerful bliss. Like a child on Christmas morning. I had never seen anything like it in a vampire before.

A fair number of us, including myself, held a certain scorn for what we had become but had learned, if not to accept it, to at least come to terms with it. Some merely saw it as an alternative to death. While others appeared truly contented with it. Only a very few (from what I witnessed over the years) were able to take a step back and look at their borrowed life with regret at all. Malakai was one of those few, I thought. That took something I didn't have. Though I had overcome my blood lust for humans years ago, it did nothing to ease the guilt I felt, imagined or not.

"Ah, this is it."

We stopped in front of an elegant townhouse of red-and-white brick. The dark shutters were closed tight against the bitter night air. The stone steps ended at a thick wood door, an odd shade of blue in the dim light of the lamp on the corner. The wrought iron flower box on the front windowsill seemed to sag under the weight of the new snow like a metaphor for the way I felt now: burdened.

I still hadn't said anything when he found the right key and let me in.

"I'm happy you—Ah!" he broke off.

It seemed he noticed the bump on the parlor sofa the same moment I did. He shut the front door in haste and hurried through the foyer. I followed out of curiosity, still in my coat.

I stopped in the doorway. The small lump turned out to be a young boy, maybe nine or ten, sleeping soundly with his fists curled up under a paisley pillow. Malakai perched on the edge of the sofa, stroking the boy's coppery curls affectionately.

"Hans," my strange host urged gently. "Hans, wake up. You'll catch cold."

I stared at him in disbelief for what must have been the tenth time that evening. He . . . he didn't really, did he?

The little boy mumbled incoherently and rolled over.

"Up to bed, Hans." He prodded the boy again. "Go on."

I watched the kid stumble blearily past me up the stairs, unable to move myself. Children? I could understand his desire for Clara—even if I didn't agree with it. Young women and strangers in alleys were one thing, but . . . children? Was this his twisted idea of a midnight snack?

He caught sight of my dismayed expression and rubbed the back of his head, looking a little sheepish. "I rent rooms," he explained.

"Rent rooms?" I heard myself echo. I turned my eyes to the ceiling, faintly hearing the dozen steady hearts beating above us.

He smiled ruefully. "Well, you know, I haven't much use for them." He rose from the sofa and glided across the room to the fireplace, trying to get it to light. "Ah-ha! There it goes."

He stood up and flashed me another friendly smile. He offered me a chair.

I didn't sit. "What do you want?"

"Before that." He held up a finger. "I hoped to clear up some misunderstandings."

"Misunderstandings?"

"Clara, for one," he said, his perfect mouth pulled down in thought. "What I mean, Doctor, is when I asked if you would bleed her, it wasn't because I wanted it—I don't see her that way—I asked because I wouldn't have allowed it. She's the only friend I have left, really."

I studied his face. He looked like he meant it.

"And the man in the alley," Malakai pressed on. "He would have died anyway."

"How's that?" I felt my resolve to hate him dissolving beneath my feet.

"He was homeless, for one thing." He played with a loose thread on his jacket cuff. "I first saw him a month or so ago, just before the weather turned cold. And, you know, it didn't seem right to do nothing. Even when he got sick, he wouldn't come in off the street. I offered him a room on two or three occasions, all of which he refused. Then I didn't see him for a few days until just now when I stumbled upon him in the alley. Practically frozen. And, well, you know, I couldn't very well have let him die that way. I did him a favor."

I frowned. So he had had a reason other than filling his thirst. Not that it made it any less wrong, but maybe he wasn't as twisted as I originally thought. My preconceived notions proven wrong, I had no reason not to be sociable. I took a step into the room.

"Sit down, sit down," my host insisted happily.

I lingered on the fringe of the room for a moment longer before finally taking a seat a safe distance from him. I've only recently been able to admit that I enjoyed his particular brand of honesty. He was still overly theatrical and unusually annoying, but he never lied—or if he did lie, at least he had a supernatural skill to hide it.

"What do you want?" I asked again.

"I'm curious about you." He had on another warm disarming smile. "As I said before, I like what you do. And then when I discovered you didn't hunt humans, I—"

"You've been following me?"

"Yes. For weeks now. I'm surprised you didn't notice."

"I'm surprised I didn't either."

He let out a laugh and changed the subject. "You must be quite old, yes?"

I didn't like giving out my age. "How old are you?" I asked instead.

"Twenty-six. Oh. You mean how long have I . . . Five years. Give or take a month or two. Everything was so different when I woke up." He laughed like it was some private joke I wouldn't get. "I thought I was going out of my mind. Was it like that for you, Doctor?"

"Something like that," I said. I found it bothersome having him call me "Doctor" all the time. Then again, giving him permission to use my name would mean being on familiar terms with him. And if this was Malakai polite and respectful, I didn't think I could handle "friendly" quite yet.

"Tell me something, Doctor." He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. "How many other vampires do you know in London?"

"Why do you ask?" I deflected, unable to think of any.

"Well, you see, I'm specifically interested in finding the gentleman who did this to me, and—"

"You're an orphan?" I sounded surprised.

"Orphan." He sounded amused, liking the sound of it. "I suppose you could call it that, yes."

Being something of an orphan myself, I didn't want to share that with a man I couldn't relate to. Especially not one who could justify killing so easily.

He laughed. "What was that face for?"

"What happened to your mother?" I asked suddenly, ignoring him. Constable Greene said she died five years ago.

There was a long pause. "How do you know about my mother?"

I told him.

"Did Sam mention my father as well?"

"Only that he teaches at Oxford."

"That he does," my host replied sourly. "The bastard."

"You don't like him?"

Malakai forced a laugh. "He's sixty and he has a mistress half his age. You know, she's hardly older than I am—would be, if I were aging. I think he knows I blame him for her death. My mother's, I mean. Granted, she was already sick, but I think knowing she had lost him finally did her in." He let out a long sigh. "It wasn't long after her funeral that this"—he gestured to himself—"happened. And I haven't seen my father since—or the bastard who changed me, for that matter."

I digested this carefully, not sure what to say or if I should say anything at all. "That's . . ."

He waved me off. "I would rather you know the truth than believe any rumors you hear about me."

The old clock on the mantle interrupted him, chiming the hour in an off-key wail.

"I see I've kept you too long," my host muttered. He crossed the room to poke at the dying fire. "I hadn't realized it was this late already."

I didn't want to go, which surprised me. I wanted to know more about his father and about what happened after the funeral. It didn't seem like I would get that chance tonight.

"Doctor," he said.

"Please, call me Carlisle," I offered, knowing I would regret it later.

He flashed a winning smile. "You know, I've been waiting all night to hear you say that."

I had guessed as much.

"Well, then, Carlisle," he started again as he rifled through his suit for something. "I hate to cut this short but I have an early appointment tomorrow—today, actually, I suppose—and I have to at least pretend to sleep for a few hours to keep my staff unawares, as it were. I hope you don't mind terribly."

He scrawled something on the old card he had found, crossed the room, and held it out to me.

"My other address," he explained. "If you find you have no other plans, I'd like you to stop by. Say around eight o'clock. I have a friend or two I want you to meet."

I took the slip of paper without question and stashed it in my pocket as I stood up to go. "All right," I said. If nothing else, it would give me an opportunity to learn more about him. "I'll try."

He saw me to the door, and I stepped back into the bitter night.

"Carlisle," he called before I had walked a dozen steps.

I regretted it already.

"Be sure to wear something nice."

He disappeared before I could ask what for.

I should have said no. From the very beginning, I should have told him no. If only I had known what I was getting myself into, I would have.


	8. That Face

**That Face**  
_Carlisle_

Maybe then he wouldn't be in this predicament. Maybe then I wouldn't be heading to explain him to my family waiting downstairs. Maybe. But I couldn't remember a time, not a single time in all the years I had known him, that I had ever told him no.

I stepped off the last step and paused one final time to assess my old friend, his blue eyes. There was something acutely off about him. His smile was the same, but the bubbling vitality behind it had weakened, or at least shifted. This stunning creature gliding behind me now seemed like a mere shadow next to the one I had met in England all those years ago. As if, somehow, he had become fragile.

It wasn't that he was physically fragile—he looked exactly as he had two hundred years ago, save his icy blue eyes—it was almost like an emotional frailty. Of course, it made sense that he would be upset about his returning humanity, but there was something else, too. I don't know how to explain it. I felt I was missing part of the bigger picture.

He saw me looking as I turned away and smirked. He caught me by the elbow and jerked me back.

"What's with that face?" he asked.

I moved swiftly out of his reach, turning again to the living room were my family had gathered.

"You've been saying that for years and I still don't know what you mean by 'that face'."

"Your face," he went on, knowing there were others listening, "is just kind of funny."

I thought he would say some other snide remark now that he had a visible audience, but for once in his extravagant life, he shut his mouth.

Rosalie and Emmett were talking cars across the coffee table, debating whether a V8 engine was better than a V6. Jasper had Alice in his lap and the two of them sat motionless watching the news on the low white couch. I saw Esme fussing over her begonias in the sloping backyard. The back deck jutted out over a tall rolling hill, the forest around it trimmed back to provide a sparkling view of Lake Michigan where we kept a private bit of sandy beach. Alice had insisted on it, threatened even.

She was the first to move, dancing to us in a second, grinning.

"I saw you coming," she informed him brightly.

I was expecting the worst, to be honest. I had a horrible feeling something would go amiss—because something always went amiss when Malakai was involved. Much to my surprise, however, everything went off without a hitch. I didn't even get a chance to say a word. Malakai laughed and everyone moved around him, needing no formal introduction because Malakai's natural charm made it unnecessary.

"Did you?" he laughed good-naturedly when Alice told him she had "seen". "Can you see it raining again soon? I left my car open."

"Sunday," she said after a moment and held out a hand, grinning. "I'm Alice."

"Happy to meet you, Alice," he said, taking her hand and kissing her fingers the way he had been raised. Jasper watched the exchange closely, looking unhappy.

Esme wandered in from the deck then and motioned wordlessly for me. I looked briefly at Malakai, glad, for once, that I was unneeded there. He didn't even notice I moved. Rosalie stepped over with all the grace in the world and asked about his car.

Emmett sidled up behind Rosalie, looking proud. "Rose knows cars."

"Well," Malakai said, sounding pleasantly surprised. He kissed the top of her hand. "I like you already."

Esme only smiled when I settled at her side. I raised an eyebrow questioningly. She stripped off her dusty gardening gloves, still smiling, and dropped them one at a time into my hands. I rolled my eyes.

"Where's Edward?" I asked her quietly, hoping not to draw Malakai's attention. He heard anyway.

"Who's Edward?" he called, lifting his eyes to us. He caught Esme's eye and grinned. She grinned back then turned her coy smile on me.

"He's still at school," Esme said.

"He's fine," Alice said. "He's on his way home."

The mystery gone, Malakai returned his attentions to Emmett. "So you're Rosalie's, are you?"

"Yeah. Emmett." They shook hands. "Nice shoes. Very purple."

"I like them," Malakai agreed.

Rosalie, who had been watching his face ever since he released her hand, finally said what was on everyone's mind. "What happened to your eyes?"

Malakai looked at her. "Oh, right," he said, as if he had forgotten the reason he had come. "Maybe Alice knows?"

Alice shook her head. Malakai turned back to Rose and shrugged "oh well".

"But you're a vampire, aren't you?" Rosalie asked.

"Yes." He looked at me. "I hope to keep it that way, too."

"I already promised I would try," I said and then, before everyone started asking questions all at once, I went on. "Malakai believes his eyes are blue because he's getting his humanity back. He came to me for help."

"As pathetic as that sounds," Malakai added, rolling his eyes.

Esme tried to get them to sit down or at least back away a little. But they were much too curious.

"What do you mean 'getting his humanity back'?" Emmett asked. They were all watching him closely, as if waiting to see if he would grow old and die right before their eyes. "Like, what, a cure?"

Malakai made a face. "You say it like I have AIDS, or something. You can't cure vampirism. It isn't a disease."

"We really have no idea yet," I said quickly to stop a fresh wave of questions and the argument I knew would follow it.

Malakai looked uncomfortable. That struck me as odd. In all the time I had known him, he had never once looked uncomfortable. I had always been the uncomfortable one. He was always very personable when it came to living humans. Maybe he had never quite gotten the hang of immortals. But then what did that make me? Of course, I had stayed with him for only a handful of years. Perhaps something had happened after I left. Maybe that was the part of the picture I was missing.

"Carlisle never mentioned you before," Jasper said, placing a hand possessively on Alice's shoulder. "How do you know him?"

I half expected Malakai to launch into some embarrassing anecdote about how we had met, some big exaggeration of the truth, but he didn't. He only shrugged. "I spent a year with him in France. It didn't last."

I relaxed a little. That much was true. Of course if he was thinking of the same year I was, I was happy he didn't go into detail. At least he didn't mention the other two years. Or the four in Russia. Or the two in Austria. Not to mention the months we spent in the Sahara, lost, and then another six years wandering in various parts of England. I would have killed him if he said all that.

"Actually, Malakai," I said, remembering what he had said about blood types. I wondered . . . "I'd like to get some blood work done before the end of the day. Would you mind?"

"Back to the hospital?" He didn't sound enthused.

"No. I have a lab upstairs."

He looked around at all the faces again. "You all have such gold eyes! Carlisle, you . . . never mind. How long will this blood work take?"

I told him not very long.

"All right," he agreed.

"I'll be up in a minute if you would wait for me in my office."

"Going to talk about me behind my back, are you?"

"Perhaps."

He laughed. "Hey, well, you're the boss." He gave a little salute and went away shaking his head.

"How old is he?" Alice asked the instant he was out of sight.

"Almost two hundred."

"Physically, I mean."

"Twenty-six."

"Where did you meet him?" Rosalie seemed more curious than Alice.

I had always thought our "meeting" was closer to me being ambushed—but I omitted this. "London," I said. "It was before the Civil War broke out in America."

"Is he a vegetarian?" No doubt Emmett was hopeful for some friendly competition.

I shook my head, sorry to disappoint him. "Furthest thing from it."

Jasper's question didn't surprise me. "Does he have a mate?"

I didn't have an answer for him.

"How long is he staying?" Esme's question quieted everyone else.

I didn't know what to say to that. First, I had no idea what was wrong with him. It could take days alone to diagnose him and, secondly, treatment—if that was even an option—would take God knew how long. I looked at her. "I can't say," I said, apology in my words. "My guess would be a week or two at best. Probably longer."

"I'll make up the spare room for him then," she said matter-o-factly. "Rosalie? Would you help?"

Emmett went with them, mumbling about "soft hands".

Alice rocked on her heels, grinning. "I like him."

What Jasper said still echoed in my head as I turned toward the stairs. He was right, of course; Malakai and I had nothing in common. He had this incessant need to be around people. Every weekend it seemed he was either going to a party or hosting one himself. He was happy and colorful, and I . . . was downright dull compared to him.

The only thing I knew was that he decided we should be friends and set out to make it so. I had no doubt that any other vampire—except perhaps Alistair—would be a better match. Hell, he could make a better match. I'm sure he could have young men and women lined up to Paris and back if he wanted. Yet, for some strange reason, he wanted me. I never understood why he signaled me out on that cold November night.


	9. Subtle

**Subtle**  
_Carlisle_

_12 Brookshire Drive,_ the card read._ Ask around._

Ask around for what? I read the address again. Perhaps he thought I might need directions—but then, I could just as easily track him. It couldn't be that hard. I flipped the card over absently, half expecting there to be something else. To my surprise, there was._ Rodney & Graham, Attorneys at Law_. Beneath it, a separate set of numbers and a street name were scribbled illegibly.

I resolved not to worry about it as I turned up the steps of my modest house on the edge of town. After all, I had only agreed to go because I already had other plans. At least I had had plans until I received a telegram that afternoon: _Something came up._

I'm sure Malakai got a good laugh out of that one.

At a quarter to eight on the dot, there was a knock on my door.

I was upstairs dressing, having trouble with my necktie as always. I had never felt completely comfortable in the stiff layers of the time except in this. I had put on my second best suit for the evening; a light gray silk that I had worn on only one other occasion. It didn't seem very practical on a beginning physician's salary, but it was my favorite. I hoped in a bit of ill humor that it was up to Malakai's standards.

There was another knock.

I went down the stairs, thinking foolishly that Malakai had sent someone to make sure I left on time.

"Yes?" I asked before I had the door open.

"Docta Cullen?" a stout, older man addressed me. He was balding and a little portly but not at all unpleasant to look at.

"Yes?"

"I 'ave a carriage a'waitin' for ya per Mista Ross's requist, sir."

"Ross? Oh, Malakai."

"Yis, sir."

I looked over his round head to the glinting carriage waiting in the street where two beautiful black horses stamped their hooves impatiently in the cold.

"Thank you, but I don't really think that's necessary," I started to say.

"I was told," the man persisted, "ta give ya dis, if dat be da case."

He held out a tri-folded stationary page to me. I took it graciously, though I didn't want to know what it said.

I unfolded the first crease.

_Get in the damn carriage._

I couldn't help a small smile as I saw what was scrawled on the bottom fold.

_Please_.

Well, he was cheeky. I had to give him that.

"All right," I gave in. "I'll be right out." I would find out soon enough that it was useless to argue with Malakai when he set his mind on anything. He usually got what he wanted in the end.

My tie had come loose somewhere between finding my coat and getting into Malakai's lavish version of a carriage and I was still fiddling with it unsuccessfully when someone shouted at us—"George! Hey! George! What the hell?"—and the carriage lurched unexpectedly to a stop, undoing all my work.

I swore quietly and began again.

"Mind da horses!" George snapped back.

"You bloody well nearly ran me over!" the voice continued angrily.

George stepped off the coachman's seat with a stiff, "My apol'gies, Mista Graham."

Graham? My head popped up at the name. Of Rodney & Graham? What was Malakai doing with a lawyer?

The carriage door swung open and a blackened silhouette sprang out of the cold night air. I drew in a slow breath, and was immediately glad I had hunted earlier that day.

I liked to think that two hundred years of abstaining from human blood had somehow made me immune to the smell, but that did nothing for me now. My hands froze on my neck, my eyes wide. He had the most delicious scent I had ever come across. Like a bakery, only a thousand times better. It startled me how powerfully it affected me.

"Thanks so much, George," Graham replied tersely, stamping out a cigarette under his heel before climbing in, his olive skin glowing faintly in the dark light. The door snapped shut behind him and the cabin filled with his warm scent. George snapped the reins and the carriage began moving again. "Oh, hello," he said when he saw me, sounding both surprised and a little put off, like I wasn't entirely welcome.

For the briefest moment, I thought he had to be one of the Undead. Of course, his heartbeat and emerald eyes said otherwise. Still, it was almost inhuman. I had never before seen a mortal with such personal beauty. He was maybe thirty and, save for a thin white scar above his right eyebrow, his skin was flawless. I wondered vaguely if all of Malakai's friends were just as beautiful, if he collected them or something. In the brief time I had known him, it wouldn't have surprised me.

Graham drew a tin of cigarettes out from under his wool cloak and rolled one between his pink lips. He hesitated a moment before offering the tin to me. "Smoke?"

"No, thank you."

He pocketed the tin with a shrug. I watched as he rummaged around for a match and, finding one, went to strike it on the carriage wall before he stopped and looked skeptically at me.

"You don't mind, do you?"

I shook my head.

"Thanks." He cupped the flickering flame to his face and exhaled a wreath of pale smoke. His hands shook. "You must be Carlisle."

That surprised me. "How do you know my name?"

He frowned at me but said nothing. "Your tie is all wrong," he said suddenly, pointing at it with his lit cigarette. He tipped toward me, looking bothered by this.

I pulled at the pale fabric self-consciously. "I've never quite gotten the hang of it, I'm afraid," I admitted.

"Here, let me," he offered, pushing my hands away from my neck before I could get out a reply.

"I . . ." I started to say but, having no reason to refuse the offer, I could only give a defeated "Thank you," though I felt awkward accepting his help.

"Makki told me you were young," Graham was saying through his cigarette, his eyes fixed intently on my neck. "But, I have to say, I hadn't expected you quite this young."

Though he said it with perfect politeness, there was no doubt in my mind that he meant it for an insult. I frowned. Age was something of a sensitive issue for me and I certainly wasn't about to let an anonymous stranger use it against me.

"I'm sorry," I said tersely. "I don't believe I caught your name."

"No?" He took out the little tin again, frowning. "Makki talked of you endlessly all day and I just assumed . . . but it looks like not." He discarded his spent cigarette out the window and returned to his side of the carriage, lighting another. "Graham," he said after another moment, looking vaguely disappointed. "Cecil Graham."

I asked him if he was the Graham to Rodney & Graham.

His laugh was artificial. "I suppose so."

I wondered what he meant by that as the carriage jostled us out of the city along a winding country road. He was never quite still, always twitching this or that finger, licking his trembling lips. I was half inclined to ask if anything was the matter when the night outside exploded into a brilliant orange light.

Cecil laughed once at my surprised expression—"Subtle isn't it?"—and lit another cigarette.

I assumed he meant the enormous house glowing gaudily at the end of a long gravel drive. Elegantly carved out of marble and pine, the house resembled something more akin to the Queen's palace than the home of a fledgling vampire. It was hard for me to imagine that anyone so young could be that rich—even if his father did teach at Oxford.

There was another carriage pulling out just as ours rolled up to the cascading front steps. Our door was opened for us by a cold-looking butler. Cecil motioned me out ahead of him. I stepped out, trying to figure out what Malakai had to do to be able to afford such a flashy estate.

"What . . . ?" I turned to Cecil, but he was already up the steps. I followed behind quickly.

A friend or two, I thought bitterly, feeling every one of my twenty-three years. That had to be the biggest line I had ever heard and I had fallen for it anyway. It shouldn't have surprised me that there were more people here than I had been promised. This was Malakai, after all. But I would never have expected quite this many. They were everywhere.


	10. One Sided

**One Sided**  
_Carlisle_

People talked and laughed and danced and sipped champagne in merry bliss. Gold and silver, ivory and lace, silk and taffeta, delicate fans, velvet frock coats, rouged cheeks, champagne and wine, trays of hors d'oeuvres littered with sweet cakes and exotic fruits and foreign delicacies swirled around us in excess. Bach crescendo-ed in the ballroom. Impossibly beautiful girls in satin dresses were courted endlessly by wealthy young men. Their mothers kept a watchful eye while their husbands talked politics and philosophy with aging members of Parliament and veterans of the Royal Guard. Hundreds of them.

If I could have gone any paler, I would have.

"I should probably warn you," Cecil was saying as our coats where taken from us. "Most of these people haven't been invited. This is Makki's last big fling before the season ends. So," and he emphasized this, "ignore the drunks."

That was the most Cecil ever said to me in the short time I knew him—and perhaps the least useful. I nodded anyway and, not knowing what I was supposed to do, followed him through the sea of nameless strangers. I watched him swindle a fresh glass of red wine out of the arms of an unsuspecting girl and then return the glass, empty, to a lost-looking young man. He moved in a very deliberate way, a way I couldn't quite put my finger on.

We found Malakai in a converted music room. He was sitting on a low sofa talking animatedly to a small gathering of adoring mortals, perhaps twenty. He told a joke and everyone laughed. A girl in white sat on his right, laughing eagerly at everything he said. Another sat to his left, flanked by a young man who was vying unsuccessfully for her attention.

Malakai didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't acknowledge, our presence. The girl sitting beside him, the one in the white gown, couldn't stop smiling when Malakai leaned in close to whisper some secret in her ear. Her face flushed pink when his fingers brushed her hand.

Cecil and I waited patiently in the entryway for Malakai to finish and notice us. So I thought. I hadn't been paying Cecil much attention until I heard him draw in a sharp breath. He had seen it, too, Malakai and this girl. I watched him pick his way behind the sofa and finally I knew what it was. He moved like a man in love.

He waited for Malakai finish whatever clever tale he was spinning before bending low over his ear to say, "I've heard that one before."

"Cecil!" Malakai exclaimed happily, hopping up and twisting around. He was suddenly blind to everyone else. "You're late."

Cecil straightened and shrugged, but not before placing a quick kiss on the girl's cheek. A coy smile stretched across his face as Malakai came around the couch to hug him. "It wasn't my fault," Cecil said, gesturing in my direction.

Only then did Malakai lift his red eyes to me and wink. "Cecil, is this a new friend of yours?"

"Idiot. He's one of yours."

Malakai looked again. He laughed. "Oh!" he said a little too loudly. "It's Carlisle!"

Suddenly every pair of eyes was on me. I stiffened. Why hadn't I told him no?

Malakai laughed as he pushed Cecil aside and glided to me. He didn't appear bothered by the attention. Of course he wouldn't. "Well, don't you look dapper?" He took me by the arms and turned me around. "I hardly recognized you."

Dapper? I frowned. I didn't appreciate being manhandled.

"I didn't think you would come."

"People are staring," I said self-consciously, only loud enough for him to hear. Too many thoughts were running through my mind for me to say anything else.

"There you are making that face again." He laughed at me. "I'm glad you came."

"You lied to me," I said politely, surprised by how calm I sounded.

"Lied?"

I nodded into the room, which, thankfully, paid us little attention now.

He looked around curiously. "What?"

"You said there were only a couple people—"

"—that I wanted you to meet, yes I know," he finished and nodded. "I never said they were the only ones invited . . . Oh. I'm sorry." He didn't look sorry. "I would have told you if I thought it would have upped the chances of you showing." He directed my attention to Cecil before I could say something in my defense. "What do you think of Cecil?"

I looked.

Cecil had taken Malakai's seat and was talking intimately with the girl Malakai had left dazed on the sofa. Only once did Cecil break his gaze with her to shoot a dirty look at the back of Malakai's head. So they were fighting over a girl?

"Who is she?"

Malakai took his eyes off me to glance back at the pair. His bright smile flashed for an instant. "Unimportant," he assured, leading me out of the room by the elbow. The stares and whispers that followed us were a little unsettling.

He asked again. I admitted I thought him ridiculously nervous and rude. He agreed enthusiastically. I could tell he wanted to tell me something more, but a decorated veteran waved him down before he could get out anything else.

He never got to say what he wanted. Despite Malakai's best efforts to skirt around the crowd, we were stopped every few steps by someone new. It seemed everyone wanted to know what strange young man Malakai had with him. I don't know how many people I met that night. Some of them were famous writers, others rising politicians, and still others did nothing at all and somehow still made more money than anyone else. Everything passed in an expensive blur, and by the end of the evening, I couldn't remember a single face, save one.

She was twenty-two and unmarried—Malakai made sure I knew that. Her name was Abigail and I had to be nice to her, he said. This was the one he wanted me to meet. He had just introduced us when Cecil came over and said Lord Dalton needed to talk with him.

"Can't it wait?"

"No."

Malakai sighed and excused himself. The two of them went away arguing.

Abigail turned to me after they had gone and told me she had forgotten my name. I liked her immediately. She was soft-spoken and shy, nothing at all like the boisterous Malakai, whom she admitted she only just met. It took me all of an hour to realize Malakai was trying to set me up with her. Something about her overtly friendly nature told me she was being bribed. I got away when I could.

"Malakai," I addressed him sharply when I caught up to him in the ballroom between songs.

He waved away a nameless young man and smiled genially at me. "Yes?"

"What the hell was that?" I demanded.

The smile faded. He looked confused. "What the hell was what?" he asked. The music started up again and all around us couples went off to dance. Malakai and I remained where we were. "You didn't like her?"

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Of course I—" I started to say, but caught myself. "That's beside the point!" I wanted to tell him he was an idiot and leave. I was done playing his game—whatever it was. I wanted to tell him I wouldn't help him find his master. He could wander this Earth alone for all I cared. He deserved it. "I never asked—I never wanted . . ." The look on his face made me stop.

He looked sorry now, very and truly sorry. "I'm sorry," he said. "You seemed so lonely. I thought— Goddamn it Cecil! What now?"

Cecil was approaching us swiftly, no doubt with someone else for Malakai to talk to, but stopped short, surprised by the animosity directed toward him. A fresh glass of champagne sat unsteadily between his trembling fingers. Malakai sighed and motioned apologetically for Cecil to join us.

"I can't stay," I told him.

His red eyes flashed forlornly in my direction. "Carlisle—"

But Cecil was talking now. "I hate to interrupt . . . whatever this is, Makki, but Senator Barrett is in the other room. He says he only has a moment to spare."

Malakai didn't seem to hear him. His eyes never left mine.

Cecil looked between us, swallowed his drink in one go, and disappeared again into the throng of guests.

"Stay," Malakai implored me urgently, looking utterly unhappy. "I want to talk with you. As soon as I get rid of Barrett. Stay."

My resolve broke and I felt my argument leaving me even as he spoke. I nodded once.

At any other party I would have left hours ago—well, no, had it been anyone else's party, I wouldn't have come at all—but upon Malakai's request, I stayed. I have no idea why. He had been trying to talk to me all evening, but every time he drew me aside Cecil was at his elbow with someone else who had to speak with him.

It must have been after two in the morning. Cecil had come for Malakai half an hour ago, under what pretense I couldn't recall, and now I stood with my arms folded next to a dusty bookcase.

Most of the guests had gone home long ago. Only an especially drunk few opted to spend the night at the spacious manor than go home tipsy to their spouses. One young girl slept delicately on the library sofa. Her twin sat at her feet talking to a laughing young man who had quite forgotten whom he had come in with. The young couple whispering intimately in the other room had taken their conversation upstairs and had yet to reappear.

I meandered aimlessly through the emptying rooms, only thinking to look for Malakai when I heard his silvery laugh drift out from behind a hidden door at the back of the house. It took me a moment to determine the other voice belonged to Cecil. He sounded on edge, like someone about to betray a confidence. I stopped outside to listen.

"What's all this all of a sudden, Cecil?" Malakai was saying. "You're being horribly selfish, you know; making me out as a bad host." He laughed again. "Look at you! You're a mess! Who let you have the brandy?"

There was a shuffling of feet and a chair groaned as someone—presumably Cecil—slumped into it.

"I'm not drunk."

"No, of course not." There was just a hint of sarcasm in the words.

"And I don't care if I'm being selfish. I want you—"

"You have nothing to worry about."

"Then why won't you let me finish!"

"Because you're being paranoid, Cecil. And you're acting like a jealous girl."

"So it is true!" Cecil snapped.

As many times as I reminded myself that eavesdropping—especially on such highly private matters—was impolite, I couldn't pull myself away. I had the strangest feeling they were, or at least had been, talking about me. But what did Cecil have to be paranoid about? I hadn't done anything. And I certainly had no plans to.

"No," Malakai sighed. "It's not, Cecil. Now, go—"

"Then tell me you love me."

I couldn't quite understand how that fit into the conversation.

When Malakai next spoke, it was apparent he no longer found this funny. "Cecil. You're the very best friend I have. Of course I—"

"I don't want to be your friend anymore." There was something odd about his tone.

"Cecil. Really." There was an edge to Malakai's laughter now. "You know we both have reputations to keep. And besides that—"

"You ruined my life."

"Now that's just unfair, Cecil! She had been sneaking around behind your back months before I met the two of you. I merely pointed it out. Even if I hadn't, how long do you think it would have taken her to realize you were going around with the same man? It would have never worked out in the long run, with or without your . . ." Malakai trailed off uncomfortably. "Neither of you ever loved the other, you know. Now you're free to chase as many coattails as you like—so long as they aren't mine." Then he added, "It's none of my business who you bed with."

An unsettling silence set in.

So I had been right in guessing that Cecil was in love, just wrong about with whom. Well, that explained a lot.

"I will pretend I didn't hear that." Cecil's voice was barely a whisper, his edge gone.

"Pretend whatever you like, Cecil," Malakai said dismissively. Then he sighed and took a gentler tone. "Now, you are welcome to spend the night here, as always. Otherwise I can arrange a taxi for you if you'd rather return home."

"I'd rather."

"Why don't you find your coat then? I'll have George hook up the horses."

"I'll walk."

"You'll freeze," the vampire pointed out politely.

"I'd rather."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Cecil. No. I won't let you. What good would it do me if you froze to death? None. You'll stay here. Come on. Get up. Marta has a bed prepared for you upstairs."

I slipped around the corner out of sight just as Cecil was pushed out of the room. He stumbled a bit on his way up the stairs in a halo of thin smoke. Malakai sighed from the doorway, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.

"He's only like this when he's had too much to drink," he apologized to me. "Though lately he's been drunk more often than usual. Poor fellow."

I stepped into view and hesitated, feeling guilty for having heard. "I didn't mean—"

He waved me off. "Oh, it's all right. Come in, come in."

"You wear glasses?"

"I did when I was human." He swiped them off and tucked them away in his breast pocket. "There's no reason for Cecil to think I'm not human."

I wasn't sure what to say. "Cecil. He, he's in love with you?"

"It's one-sided," he assured, motioning me inside. He sat down swiftly at an aging writing desk and dabbed a quill in an opened bottle of ink. "I hope you don't mind if I finish this letter. Cecil has this wonderful habit of interrupting me when I'm busy. Could you close the door? And have a seat if you like. I'll only be a moment."

"He must like you, then," I ventured carefully when he had put down his pen, "to be drunk all the time."

Malakai laughed. "He's no good to me drunk."

I learned that Cecil did some "off the records" work for him (Malakai didn't elaborate and I didn't ask) and in return Malakai kept his "secret". Oh, and the girl was his niece.

"I've told him—repeatedly, mind you—that I don't share his affections. I've threatened him, but it hasn't stopped him from trying different . . . tactics. This is his latest attempt." The young vampire licked his lips in distaste and muttered something that sounded curiously like "My ass is far too delicate for that."

I stared at him, sure I had heard wrong. My previous assumptions about his character had been completely off the mark. He wasn't just cheeky. He was downright vulgar.

He laughed when I told him this. "We can't all be like you, you know. You shouldn't have to worry about your ass, though; Cecil hasn't taken a liking to you at all."

I tried to change the subject. "What was it Cecil was paranoid about?"

"Oh." Malakai cocked his head to the side, his red eyes brooding. "Well. He has this strange notion he's being replaced."

"With whom?"

He fixed me with a look, one eyebrow raised.

"What? Me?" That was absurd.

Malakai nodded then quickly shook his head. "It's absolutely untrue, of course. I can't afford to lose Cecil right now, and I wouldn't dream of you—But that's what he thinks."

"Why . . .?"

Again with the look. "He's jealous—and I can't say I blame him; you're younger and prettier than he is. It's something he's not used to."

Now I was pretty?

"But don't let on that you know," Malakai went on. "His nerves have been shot ever since—can I tell you abut him?"

I had a feeling he would have anyway had I said no.

He spoke in quiet hurried words. Cecil's mother had died in childbirth, something his father never let him forget until the day he died. His aunt adopted him when he was nine. She was widowed with four daughters, all married by the time Cecil was twelve. The aunt had never liked Cecil and, left alone with him, turned physically abusive—among other things. Some days the bruises were so bad that, rather than face the stares and humiliation at school, Cecil ducked into the alley behind the local boy's orphanage to lick his wounds, so to speak. That's where he met William. He was a year older and, despite the mean tricks he played on the younger boys, unexpectedly kind. He was also an expert at first aid. The two were best friends from then on. Will made life bearable, fun even, until his violent death on the eve of Cecil's seventeenth birthday. Two years earlier, Cecil had come into his room after supper to find William grinning at him. It took him by surprise. Before he could ask what Will was doing here, or even how he had gotten in, Will had crossed the room, wound his arms around Cecil's neck, and kissed him. Will came back nearly every night after that. He wasn't always quiet about it either, laughing and drinking and carrying cigarettes. So it was only a matter of time before Cecil's aunt spotted William leaving one night long after the lights had gone off and all the pieces came together. The next night, after beating Cecil unconscious, she waited for William to appear in Cecil's window and shoved him back out. Cecil woke up later that week in a hospital and he knew then that William was dead.

For the second time that evening, I could scarcely believe my ears. Malakai had to be making it up. There had to be some mistake. No way was that tragic tale true. It was impossible to think any harm could ever come to such an angelic face.

"I didn't believe it myself at first, you know. But I've seen his scars and been to William's grave." Malakai shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "When he first told me this, his story, my heart broke. He looked so damn pathetic crying his beautiful eyes out and I, I felt awful that I couldn't cry with him. It was so unfair."

He didn't understand why we couldn't cry, and asked what I thought. I told him my theory. He didn't understand why our hearts never beat. I told him my theory. The sun? I could only speculate. Sleeping? Questions ran out one after another. I didn't think he would ever stop. I told him everything I knew of the Volturi (he liked Aro immensely, and it didn't surprise me; they were alike in many ways). He had me talking well into the morning, asking me every vampire myth in the book.

Now, centuries later, he asked me what I thought could be turning him human and I couldn't think of a single thing.


	11. Aichmophobia

**Aichmophobia**  
_Carlisle_

My office was open and a strange squeaking, like someone writing on a whiteboard, came from within.

Malakai was standing near the wall, his back to me. I was what he was doing before he turned. "Are those horns coming out of Caius's head?"

The squeaking stopped. Malakai laughed guiltily and half turned. He spun the dry erase marker in his hand. "Well, he is the spawn of Satan, after all. It seemed fitting."

I stepped closer, more curious to see what he'd done than angry at him for defacing my personal property—a priceless antique at that.

"It'll come off," he apologized quickly. "I really couldn't resist though. I had the marker in my pocket and Aro's creepy little face was begging for it."

Aro was sporting a bear and mustache combo akin to that of Jesus Christ. An odd choice, I thought.

"I couldn't decide between Hitler and Santa Claus," Malakai explained upon seeing my perplexed expression. "I gave him both."

I laughed when I saw what he had done to Marcus. Marcus, the most solemn of the Volturi, had his usual somber mouth replaced with a very wide, very uncharacteristic grin, dimples and all.

"That's very clever," I said.

Malakai had on a smile to match. "I always did have a soft spot for Marcus, poor bastard."

"Have you been to see them lately?" I walked across the room and swung the third bookcase open on a hidden flight of stairs.

He tossed the marker on my desk and shrugged. "Decade or so. Aro requested me, actually. Said something about an immortal child. He said it was my duty as—" He broke off when I ushered him into the room at the top of the stairs. "Wow."

My lab was still a work in progress. Nearly everything had burned with the house four years ago and I was very slowly putting it all back. So far, I had an X-ray in one corner, an EKG machine and a fully functioning O.R. along the east wall, a few microscopes and such, as well as number of other common medical items. The largest was an MRI I hadn't had the opportunity to use yet. Nothing out of the ordinary. And certainly no cause for Malakai to say, smirking, "What kind of freaky experiments you got going on here, Doc? I mean, I've seen some kinky stuff before, but this—"

"Shut up." I didn't want to hear it. Besides, I was more interested in what he had been saying before about "an immortal child". A decade ago would have been right around the time Bella had given birth . . . it seemed so much longer than that . . . Could he have been there? No. He would have said something already if he had. I asked anyway.

"Did you go?"

"Hm?" He picked his eyes off the room and quirked a perfect eyebrow to me. "With Aro? No. I was dealing with an important personal crisis at the time and bloodthirsty infants half a world away didn't seem worth the effort."

"Personal crisis?"

He shed his silk sports coat, tossed it over the nearest chair. He watched me carefully as I gathered my supplies from the cabinet I kept stocked for situations like this. "Keyword being personal."

"Ah." Clearly, it wasn't a subject he wanted to discuss. I found the elastic bands on the third shelf. "Which arm?"

He rolled up each sleeve carefully. "Surprise me."

I tied the band above his left elbow. He shivered. "Something the matter?" I asked.

"Your hands are cold."

"I'm sorry." I retrieved the needle. "Now," I warned him, "I'm not entirely sure this will work."

"Excuse me?" His blue eyes got very large. "What? No. Nonono. I will not be subjected to needles on a whim of yours. I—" He tried to get up, I sat him back down.

"Kai, relax. I was kidding." This was a lie. I only said that to calm him down. I honestly had no idea if this was going to work. "You will be fine."

He relaxed marginally. "Just get it over with."

I think may have stabbed him a little too hard.


	12. Quite the Fox

**Quite the Fox**  
_Malakai_

What can I say but that I was impressed? Never in my wildest fantasies did I ever imagine Carlisle could actually do it. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have never believed in its existence. Carlisle Cullen? A coven? There was no way Carlisle—not _my_ Carlisle—could ever belong to, let alone master over, such a large coven. There was just no way.

I mean that in the best possible way, of course. Carlisle was compassionate, to be sure, and kind, rarely cross and always understanding, but to be perfectly honest, the man was a bit of a pushover. Take Oxford, winter of 1836. I took him home for Christmas to meet my father (I needed someone to see what an ass he was) and did the third worst thing you can do to a man and rather than be angry, (to which he had every right) Carlisle only stood there. Granted, he was caught off guard and confused, but he just stood there. It wouldn't surprise me if he lacked the capacity to be angry—I take that back. I had seen him angry, perhaps even enraged, once. In Paris. It left me so shocked I could hardly speak. I just stared, gaping while he stood above me, glaring—but then he knelt beside me and _apologized_ like _he_ had done something wrong. God, even when he was mad he was a pushover. A compassionate, soft-spoken pushover, destined, I was sure, to be a wandering wraith forever. And yet here he was a hundred and some odd years later with a coven of his own. It shocked me how young they looked. I realize most vampires are young anyway, but these were all children. And I was the sick bastard? I nearly laughed out loud.

I looked at Carlisle for confirmation. I wanted him to say "Yes, this is my family. Yes, we're happy." If only he said it, it would be true. If only their smiles didn't look so forced, maybe I would have believed it.

That isn't to say I didn't enjoy meeting them. I did very much. Alice was cute. Something about her was familiar, like a vague dream from another life, but the feeling passed when Rosalie, perhaps the most gorgeous creature I had laid eyes on in years, wondered about my MGB. I was happy, quite excited, in fact, that someone knew what it was before I told them. Most people assumed it was an old Corvette. Not even a Ferrari, but a common Corvette. I had to stop myself from offering to take her for a drive right then and there. Though I had a feeling Emmett wouldn't mind, Carlisle's request to "behave" held me back. Emmett. . .He was something else. Sadly, I didn't think Jasper liked me. Nonetheless, they were all very well-mannered. Why wouldn't they be with Carlisle leading them?

I have to say though, I was disappointed to hear Carlisle had never talked about me. It wasn't like sixteen years up and disappeared just like that. I would have—no. That's a lie. I hadn't talked much about him since we went our separate ways.

I wanted to stay and talk longer, there were so many stories I wanted to tell them, but Carlisle acted like there was something more pressing he had to deal with.

"Go wait upstairs," he said. Sure, all right. I would let him win this time.

I was in his office, skimming through his library when I saw it. Aro's idiotic face, leering behind a thin veil of glass. I really did laugh out loud then. It was absolutely perfect. I still had that marker from the nurse's lounge in my pocket and Carlisle wasn't around. . .

"Are those horns coming out of Caius's head?"

I nearly jumped out of my socks. Surprisingly, he only wanted to know when last I had seen them. I made a face. Did we really have to talk about the Volturi now? Two out of three of them were assholes and the other third was manic depressive. Not exactly my cup of tea. "Decade or so," I heard myself say. It seemed longer than that. "Aro requested me, actually. Said something about an immortal child. He said it was my duty as—Wow."

I don't know what I was expecting when Carlisle said he had a lab, but I certainly wasn't expecting a replica of the hospital we had just left. Who the hell has an X-ray in their attic? And what the hell did he do with it? "What kind of freaky experiments you got going on here, Doc? I mean, I've seen some kinky stuff before, but this—"

"Shut up."

I smirked, scanning the room. Poor guy; all these years and he still hadn't found a sense of humor.

"Did you go?" he asked.

"Hm? With Aro? No." Yeah right. "I was dealing with a more personal crisis at the time and bloodthirsty infants half a world away didn't seem worth the effort."

"Personal crisis?"

I tossed my jacket on the nearest chair and watched Carlisle pull medical things out of his medical cabinet. I'm not going to pretend I know the first thing about medicine. Carlisle's daunting enthusiasm for it killed any inkling I may have had for it after the first month. That and I have an irrational fear of needles. "Keyword being personal."

"Ah," he said, getting the hint. There was no way in hell I was telling him a damn thing about that if I could avoid it. Certain things about my life Carlisle wouldn't understand or care to, at least, and I didn't need his misinterpretations getting between us again. "Which arm?"

I rolled up my sleeves, feigning disinterest. "Surprise me."

I watched him tie the band around my left elbow and shivered.

"Something the matter?" he asked.

"Your hands are cold."

"I'm sorry." He smiled apologetically. "Now, I'm not entirely sure this will work."

"Excuse me?" I nearly jumped out of my seat. "What? No. Nonono." Hell no. "I will not be subjected to needles on a whim of yours. I—"

"Malakai, relax. I was kidding. You will be fine."

Bullshit. "Just get it over with."

"Ow," I said, and I flinched. It hurt like hell. I looked away. The sight of my blood swirling around in those thin glass tubes was too much for my strained nerves. "Ow," I said again.

"All right?" Carlisle's voice brought me around. I looked at him hazily. I didn't quite know what to make of his expression. He looked worried (not an uncommon thing for him), but it wasn't his usual concerned worry. It was more of a curious, perplexed kind of worry that did nothing for my own anxiety.

"Fine," I answered automatically, though it was a lie. Never in all my life had I known anything that small to hurt that much. Just the thought of something under my skin made my stomach turn. "I hate needles."

"I'll be done in a moment," he said, swallowing a smile.

I needed something to distract me, anything. "I met your patient Francine," I struck up out of the blue. It was the first thing that presented itself. "The one who got the new hip. I asked her about you."

He took the bait. "Did you?"

"She said you've only been at St. Mary's for little over a year."

"Yes, that's true." Carlisle removed one full phial and replaced it with an empty one.

"She also said you're quite the fox."

"Did she?"

I nodded, feeling a little better.


	13. Magic Venom

**Magic Venom**  
_Malakai_

"You know," I started to say, but my cell phone started singing _Journey_ at the top of its lungs. I fished it out with haste. I could've sworn I had a different ring tone. I didn't recognize the number and sent the call to voicemail. "Sorry. I thought I turned the bugger off." I stuffed it away. "You know—" My phone interrupted me again. I pulled it out again and saw it was the same number. "Stop. Calling," I told it firmly and put it back.

Carlisle collected all the blood he needed and freed my arm.

"Ow," I said again but with less feeling. "You know—" The damn thing went off a third time, displaying the same foreign number. "Jesus, it's possessed!" I declared to the room.

Carlisle sat down at his desk. "You can answer it if you want. I don't mind." He uncapped one of the samples, dripped a couple drops on a glass slide, and set it under his microscope. He went about it in such a practiced manner it nearly made me laugh. He really was too good-looking for his own good.

My cell phone started singing again before I could tell him this. I answered it this time. "Hello?" It was a woman. "Who? No, this isn't—Brown, you said?" She sounded American. "Yes, I know him. No, I think you have the wrong number. No, I haven't seen him in awhile. If I do, I'll be sure to tell him you called. Of course. You're very welcome." I hung up. "Wrong number," I explained, sliding off the stool. "What was I saying before?"

"I don't remember." Carlisle wore an interesting expression.

I didn't either. I flexed my needle-free arm absently. It felt weird. "So what's the prognosis, Doc?" I looked down at my softly throbbing arm and watched as the skin around the crook of my elbow blushed red, then blossomed into a deep furious purple. "Say, Carlisle. . ."

Carlisle looked up.

"Does that normally happen? If it does, don't wor—" Carlisle was beside me in an instant, inspecting my bruise with fascination. We both watched as it turned from purple to green to yellow and disappeared in the blink of an eye. "—ry."

"Fascinating," Carlisle breathed. He looked strangely excited.

"I haven't seen you this excited since we left Russia."

Carlisle released my arm and returned to his chair. "This is the most bizarre case I have ever seen," he said. "Your skin is soft, it doesn't sparkle, it bruises easily and yet it heals itself as vampire skin would. It seems almost backward. . ." The look on his face told me he had no new insights for me. "Come take a look."

He had hooked his state-of-the-art microscope to his state-of-the-art computer monitor and a very ominous image of my blood loomed on the screen. I leaned in for a closer look. "What are we looking at?" It looked normal enough—Or was that the point?

Carlisle cleared his throat unnecessarily. I understood that to meant I was too close (I never had had much respect for personal space). "Sorry," I said and assumed a more respectable distance. "What is it we're looking at? What are those things?"

I saw intermingled with the red lifesaver disks a half dozen considerably smaller angry black asterisks. As we watched, three of these angry asterisks swarmed around and unsuspecting lifesaver and twirled around it in a bizarre dance, dancing closer and closer, never touching it, and darted away.

"What the hell?"

"It is very strange," Carlisle agreed. "I believe these things, whatever they are, are ingesting your venom."

"By dancing around my blood vessels?" That didn't make sense.

"No." Carlisle shook his head lightly. He turned to me, looking like he didn't quite know how to explain it. "Haven't you ever wondered how we can function? Without air? Without pumping blood?"

"Magic venom," I answered lightly. Everyone knew that. I knew the story of how it started—at least the one Marcus had told, but I had never much cared for "how" it worked, only that it did. "Listen, if it's all the same, I'd rather not get into all the technical stuff."

"No, of course not," Carlisle said quickly. "I suppose the rest isn't relevant to your case anyway."

"Magic venom."

Carlisle turned back to the screen. "It would seem your magic venom is being destroyed by some kind of antibody." Antibodies? "You must have picked it up from someone."

"Someone?" Like that wasn't obvious.

"I'll have to run some tests first." He looked deep in thought. "I wonder. . ." He left his desk and opened the medical cabinet. It took him forever to find what he was looking for.

"You want to take my temperature?" I asked skeptically. At least it wasn't another needle.

"Humor me," he said, so I did. He pulled a chair up to the desk and sat me in it. I took the thermometer and popped it in my mouth.

"I want you," he said as he rifled through the desk drawer and produced a pen and paper, "to make a time line of your symptoms. Dates and places."

I twirled the thermometer under my tongue and shrugged. Whatever he thought would help. "The numbers are the times my heart beat." I explained when he retrieved the thermometer. "The first was in April, shortly before I left to find you."

"Eighty-four," he read the thermometer aloud, eyebrows knitted. He set it aside and took up the paper. "Nothing else?"

"No," I said. "Wait, that's not true." How could I forget the crazy old lady? "Last winter. I was walking home from dinner when I had this terrible pain in my chest. It brought me to my knees and I was sitting there panting in the street when this ridiculously dressed old lady waddled up to me. I don't remember what she said, but she took off one of her wool gloves and put her hand to my forehead. Then she said something about a fever. Her fingers were like ice."

"You had a fever?"

"I guess. But eighty-four is good, isn't it? How warm are vampires supposed to be?"

"You should be around fifty," Carlisle said, looking over the paper again. "You travel frequently?"

"Extensively," I corrected.

"How long did you say you've been hunting drug addicts?"

I rolled my eyes. "When I said 'addicts' I didn't exclusively mean drug addicts; I meant all kinds. Drugs, gambling, sex, alcoholics, workaholics, whatever other kinds of 'holics' there are." I weighed Carlisle's expression—that face again—and rubbed my arm. "There's something infinitely sad about the way they live. You know?"

"How long?" Carlisle asked again. Obviously he didn't.

I thought for a moment. "Since I returned to London in September."

"What about before?"

"I took up raiding blood banks for awhile." I was trying to follow his train of thought. "You think I contracted some blood disease?" That made even less sense.

He didn't answer. "Do you keep anyone around?"

"I've been keeping the same company for the better part of eight years. Daniel four. I've asked the others to keep my. . .unique existence from him. I'm sure he knows by now. He's very clever. Or very stupid. It's hard to tell."

"Human, I take it."

"Yes."

"What does Daniel do?"

"Whatever I tell him to, naturally," I said and laughed. "He's been looking after my finances."

"What about vampires?"

"What about them?" I had no idea why he was asking me these questions, nor did I necessarily want to divulge every last detail of my personal life. "Oh, damn. I never called him back." I smiled slowly. "I have many whom I call friends, but no, I call no vampire mine," I said. "Why do you ask?"

"Just trying to see if anyone would want you dead."

I laughed. "The only vampire who would want that would be Howard and. . ."A thought crossed my mind. Not Howard but Tom—no, that was absurd. I hadn't seen him in over a century, and I stopped hearing from him shortly after. I wasn't even sure he was still alive. If he were, would he bother? ". . .well, he's too much of a sissy."

"Who else?"

No, that was absurd. "Who else what? Sorry."

"Wants you dead."

"Oh. Caius, I suppose," I said, trying to forget the idea. "Then again, he wants everyone dead, doesn't he?" I wanted to get off this subject. "So, hold on a minute. Are you saying I picked up some human virus?"

"I'll have to run some tests first."

"How long will that take?" Perhaps these tests wouldn't require my presence. I was hopeful of that.

"I'm not sure. . .Edward." Carlisle sounded a little relieved.

I turned round in my seat. His eyes were gold, naturally, but his expression was hard to read, but damn did Carlisle know how to pick good-looking kids.

"Alice said you might need me," the boy said, studying me measuredly."

"Yes. Good timing." Carlisle waved him over and introduced us.

"So you're Edward," I said, looking him over with polite interest. He looked tired, brokenhearted.

"Carlisle didn't tell me you were his first." Edward and Carlisle both looked at me. I laughed happily. "It was just a guess. Was I right?"

"Yes," Edward said in a toneless voice. He was still eying me peculiarly. "Alice told me about your. . . condition."

"Carlisle thinks I'm diseased."

"Yes, I know," he said. "You have an interesting technique."

"Thank you," I said, not knowing precisely what he meant by that. I was still trying to decide what had happened to make this poor child—because he was a child—look so sad when it struck me. From the right angle, Edward looked exactly as Cecil had the night he—oh, that wasn't good.

Carlisle was explaining his theories to Edward, who nodded or shook his head but never said a word.

I suddenly felt very useless. "Do I need to be here or can I roam around? Where's Esme?"

"No," Carlisle said, though he looked as if he wanted me to stay. "I suppose you can go. Esme should be down the hall getting your room ready."

"She doesn't have to do that." I didn't want to cause any trouble, any more trouble, I should say.

"It would be easier if you stayed here."

I brightened. "You want me to stay?"

Carlisle looked at me evenly. "Yes," he said slowly, knowing I would use whatever he said against him.

I chuckled. "Well, hey, don't sound so enthused." I rose out of my chair and retrieved my jacket from across the room. "Tell me if you think of anything," I said, sliding into my jacket.

I strode down the stairs and out of the office, looking for Esme.


	14. Mrs Cullen

**Mrs. Cullen**

Two things became apparent to Edward as he turned into the office. First, Carlisle was frustrated. A hundred infectious diseases presented themselves in his mind and each was swiftly eliminated. Most didn't make sense while others were simply absurd. Second, the bulk of Carlisle's frustration was a result of and directed to the man with the outlandish car. (Emmett had been the first to point out that the car was "backward" where then Rosalie rolled her eyes and said, "It's British." Apparently, they had been trying to figure out if that was legal, driving a "backward" automobile on American roads. "I doubt he's worried about that," Jasper reminded them, a certain contempt in his words. However he managed it, this stranger was causing Carlisle a lot of grief.)_ Don't know why I bother_ . . . floated through Carlisle's mind from time to time, and . . . _hasn't changed at all_ in a tone that hinted Carlisle wished he had. Edward was so absorbed analyzing Carlisle's mental state that he had raised his hand to knock on the lab door before he realized he heard two voices and only one set of thoughts. He opened the door.

He couldn't hear a word. The only thing coming from Malakai's mind was static. Try as he might, Edward couldn't get around the white noise. It was strange, almost as if this man's thoughts operated on a different frequency and Edward couldn't get a signal. Stranger still were Carlisle's thoughts. Just the same two sentences, repeated with apology. Whatever Malakai is thinking, ignore it. Ignore what he says, for that matter.

Edward didn't that would be too hard, at least the first part anyway. The latter part of Carlisle's advice proved more difficult to follow. It wasn't so much what Malakai said as how he said it. Edward got the distinct impression (because that was all he could get) that Malakai was making fun of them. Maybe Edward was only being paranoid. Perhaps it was Malakai's idle chatter, his easy laughter and his easier smile that Edward didn't like. It seemed like a contradiction. Here was a man, a vampire to be more precise, who was turning human and probably dying and in the midst of it all, he was making jokes. It was strange. It was as if he didn't care, as if it didn't really matter. Carlisle had sat at the microscope for all of a minute, said "look" and Malakai was no longer interested, brushed it off without a second thought. Edward wasn't sure what he should think. When Malakai had gone Carlisle turned to him, his expression apologetic.

"Who's Cecil?" Edward asked before Carlisle could voice the questions on his mind.

"Cecil?" Carlisle echoed, a little surprised and a little confused. What did Cecil have to do with any of this?

"Oh," Edward said, seeing the memories whirl through Carlisle's mind. "Never mind. I don't know," he said, answering Carlisle's other question. "I only heard the name."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't hear his thoughts. It's . . . fuzzy," Edward explained. "Like a bad signal on a radio."

"That's very strange," Carlisle said, wondering how that could be.

Edward nodded, thinking annoying would be a more accurate word.

"Perhaps it's for the best," Carlisle was saying, trying to "look on the bright side." Perhaps the world was better off not knowing what went on in Malakai's head. Then again, it could always have something to do with his transformation.

~*~  
The office spit him out into the hallway and from there Malakai wasn't sure where to go. Downstairs where Carlisle's family was no doubt still waiting was tempting, but Malakai was sure he would say something Carlisle didn't want said (anything about their time together, Malakai was sure). Perhaps that's why he wanted to see Esme. If anyone knew Carlisle better than he did, it had to be Esme. Of course, he could always go back up to the lab, too. No, they were sure to be getting along better without him. That, and Malakai couldn't take Edward's obvious and private self-hating anymore than he had been able to take Cecil's. Perhaps it was best if he did what he said he was going to do for once and found Esme. Carlisle could appreciate that, couldn't he?

He glanced about in the empty hall, at the pale wood flooring and the muted, happy wall paint, to the paneled doors left open at various degrees, all the way down to the end of the hall where a great and elegant window looked out over the tops of trees, some already turning colors, and down to the glittering water of the great lake. He found himself wondering if they sailed or if they preferred a speed boat when his cell phone rang, a different ring from a different pocket. He hastened to fish it out and, recognizing the California area code, hastened to answer it.

"Hello Alex," he greeted neutrally, dropping his British accent for something a little more So Cal.

"Mr. Samson, we've run into a slight snag in the—"

"You lawyers are always running into something, aren't you? Listen Alex, it's not the best time." Malakai tread carefully down the hall toward the open door on the end where he was sure Esme was hiding. "Why not try back in an hour or so?"

"But, Mr. Samson—"

"Why not," Malakai repeated crisply, "call me back in an hour or so with good news and I won't have to hang up on you."

"Mr. Samson, please. It's—"

Malakai disconnected before poor Alex could finish. He chuckled to himself. Lawyers were so fun to mess with.

Esme's voice trickled out into the hall. "What's so funny?"

Malakai dropped his phone into his pocket and poked his head into the room. "Esme," he greeted, his voice like a soft breeze. "Does Carlisle ever let you stop working? Don't tell me you're going to such lengths for me. I couldn't bear that."

"Nonsense." Esme's smile was soft and wide. Absolutely perfect, Malakai thought. "You are a guest. It's no trouble at all."

"Es—Mrs. Cullen," Malakai said, smiling faintly as he surveyed his new room. It was simply decorated, but expertly so. The wood floor from the hall flowed seamlessly into the room, complimenting the pale sea-blue walls with ease. On the south wall, framed by two bright French windows, a very large and very plush bed sat on four cherry wood legs. An inviting white down comforter rested beneath various shaped and sized pillows, some white, others blue. Opposite the bed, a tall, proud mirror graced the top of a long, low-slung dresser. A third window graced the east wall, boasting a similar view as the one from the hall. "If you are any nicer to me I may never leave. May I call you Mrs. Cullen? It suits you so well."

Esme stopped fussing over white sheets and pillows and tucked her long curls behind her ear to get a better look at this old friend of her husband's. She smiled warmly, taking well to his flattery. "Only as long as it amuses me," she replied wittily. "Did you meet Edward?"

"Oh yes." He nodded, watching her move about the room. "He seemed . . . disconnected."

"Do you think so?" Esme paused in her busywork long enough to frown. "I had hoped he was getting better."

"Mrs. Cullen"—Esme couldn't help another smile as Malakai casually strode over to her—"I don't sleep, you know."

"Oh!" Esme gasped, embarrassed. She hadn't meant to assume. "I'm sorry. I wasn't sure. We have another room if you would prefer—"

"No," Malakai said quickly, laughing a little. He sat down on the mattress to prove there were no hard feelings. "It's lovely, thank you." He laughed again as he took her cool hands in his. "You are, without a doubt, Mrs. Cullen."

She had the prettiest smile, like she knew this already but never tired of hearing it. Malakai smiled just as coyly back. If she were any more perfect, he would have to smuggle her back to London with him. If only she weren't married . . . He laughed again and gave her hands back.

There were footsteps in the hall. Carlisle stood in the doorway, looking characteristically concerned.

"You found something already?" Malakai asked pleasantly, surprised to see him again so soon.

Carlisle shook his head once. "No." He had no new insights. In his mind, it shouldn't be possible. It was too impossible, in fact. Vampires didn't get sick. They didn't catch colds and they didn't run fevers and they most certainly did not have blue eyes. Leave it to Malakai to find a way to turn human again . . .

Edward appeared a moment later, looking grim as ever, looking exactly like Cecil.

"Did you find something?" Malakai asked pleasantly, expecting a different answer.

Edward shook his head once. "No."

"So why are you both here?" If there was nothing to report, what was the sense in bothering him?

Carlisle stepped forward. "Edward suggested, and I agree, that since it seems we are on a time limit, it would be more beneficial to you if we first got your blood clean before we chase any theories."

"What is this wonderful idea of Edward's?" Malakai asked, glancing between the two as Esme stood by.

"Not mine," Edward grumbled, trying not to roll his eyes. He took the opportunity to take his leave. "I'll be downstairs."

Carlisle cast him a sympathetic look. "We think we have a way to get whatever this is out of your venom."

"Oh, lovely. Fantastic." Malakai's smile was distracted. "Does it involve more needles?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure there is no needle-free alternative? I have a phobia," he explained to Esme.

Esme wasn't sure what to say to that so she smiled, if not somewhat strangely, and looked to Carlisle who shrugged his shoulders and said, "No, there are no alternatives."

Malakai looked displeased. "Can't it wait until tomorrow? I'm not sure I can take any more abuse from you today."

"I didn't mean right away," Carlisle said. "I need to order a machine. The earliest I can have it here is Monday."

"Then I insist on paying you back," Malakai said, patting his jacket for his wallet.

"That's really unnecessary."

"All right then," Malakai said without argument, tucking his wallet away again. Carlisle had always been a little touchy about money. Perhaps another time. "You look like you want to say something more," Malakai smiled helpfully. "You have that look about you. What is it?"

Carlisle didn't know how to broach the subject. "Esme, could you give us a minute, please?"

"Of course." Esme excused herself graciously, but not before briefly kissing Carlisle on the mouth.

Malakai shifted on the bed to better look at his friend. He looked amused and somewhat curious. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Well, you certainly have my attention."

"Then I'll get right to the point." Carlisle took a breath. "While you're here, as your doctor, I think it's best if we lay down some ground rules. A code of conduct, if you will."

"Code of conduct? Look, if you're going to say 'no bringing meals back to the house,' I already guessed as much."

"What? Oh, no, I hadn't thought of that, but thank you." Carlisle set his jaw. He was sure Malakai wouldn't like what he was about to say. "No, I had been thinking it would be best if you stopped hunting altogether."

Malakai laughed, clearly thinking he was joking. "I'm waiting for the punch line."

"With your current condition I don't think a random human victim will be the best thing for you." Carlisle picked up a bauble on the dresser to avoid looking at him.

"I can't tolerate anything other than A positive," Malakai reminded him, thinking the classic "drink an animal, save a human" speech was coming.

"Yes, I didn't forget." Carlisle set the trinket down and turned around, smiling wanly as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I hope you don't object to donated blood."

"It's not exactly my cup of tea."

"It is, however, clean," Carlisle qualified. "I'm hoping a stricter diet might flush this thing out in time."

"I didn't say no," Malakai cut in brusquely.

"Good," Carlisle said, unfolding his arms as if that was all there was to it.

"Is that all?"

"Not exactly," Carlisle admitted. "I would appreciate it if you stayed away from Edward."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Malakai started to say.

"I'm sure you do," Carlisle called him out, smiling politely. "Regardless, I'll have none of it in my house." He turned to go.

Malakai called him back. "Wait a minute, Carlisle." Carlisle paused at the door and turned his head. "You said you wouldn't have this thing until Monday. What am I supposed to do until then?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something . . . I think you're phone is ringing."


	15. Wednesday Morning

**Wednesday Morning**

Why was it every time Malakai made up his mind to do something, the universe seemed to have other plans for him? It seemed a reoccurring theme in his life. Take the time he had determined to get drunk, really hammered for once in his life and what happens? The universe says no, you had better be made a vampire. Then Carlisle had appeared, like a godsend, and Malakai was sure they would be the very best of friends, was in fact determined to make it so, and for a time they were, until Paris came along and forced a wedge bigger than the Atlantic Ocean between them. And now more recently, when he had been so close to a breakthrough in this whole fledgling fiasco, he started turning human!

Goddammit! Did the universe want him to be alone forever? Was that his fate? It certainly seemed that way. It certainly seemed that he would die here. Yes, the universe was certainly against him. Today especially. Today had been one thing after another. When Malakai had wanted to talk to Carlisle's family, Carlisle had wanted him alone. When Malakai wanted to talk to Carlisle alone, someone always interrupted—in this case it had been his phone. No doubt it was Alex the lawyer, calling in fifty-three minutes instead of sixty. He didn't want to talk to Alex the lawyer. He never had any good news to tell him and he was always interrupting something or another.

The next two hours he spent listening to his patience slip further and further away until his Blackberry informed him he had another call waiting.

"Alex, Alex," Malakai cut in. "I'll have to call you back. My mother's calling. No, call me in the morning. Yes, all right. I'm hanging up now." Alex no longer whining in his ear, Malakai took a quick glance at the area code. "Hello, mother," he greeted in his natural voice.

"Kai—what?" a male voice answered, sounding annoyed. "Kai, cut the crap."

"Oh, it's you. Hello, Carson. What are you doing in Spain? I thought you were in Tokyo on your honeymoon for another month."

Carson sighed on the other end. "No. Focus for a minute, please. It's important."

"Everything is important to you, Carson. What is it?"

"The operation in Dallas—you know the one I'm talking about?"

"Texas. Yes, what about it?"

"I've been monitoring our monetary contributions—"

"How thoughtful of you."

"—and I think it's best if we pull the plug on this one."

"Whatever you think is best, Carson."

"I really—Wait, what?"

"Go ahead. I never much cared for Texas anyway. It's a horrible place."

"I'll. . . get right on it then." He sounded surprised he had won so easily.

"But Carson."

"Yeah?"

"Do it quietly this time, all right? I don't want a repeat of Cuba."

"They won't even know we were there."

"Fantastic. Thank you, Carson."

Malakai was in a much better mood when he got off the phone with Carson than he had when he had hung up on Alex. That changed, naturally, when the Swiss Bank called a minute later. They were calling to inform him his account may have been compromised and had he authorized eight million pounds to be wired to a Mr. Quinton Pummel? No, Malakai said, he hadn't. After two hours of that nonsense, he spent another hour talking in German while Mr. Mielke tried to explain why he and his company had yet to—"No," Malakai finally cut him off in swift German. "I'll find someone else." The last half hour he had been having a very heated discussion in Korean with some incompetent idiot on the other end. "Damn Koreans . . ." he muttered when he abruptly disconnected the call some time after midnight.

Determined not to be disappointed anymore this evening, Malakai decided enough was enough and rather than simply shutting his Blackberry off, he removed the battery. He placed it purposefully on the chest of drawers, dropped the rest of his phone into its rightful place and got out of that room.

The hallway was empty. He went down the stairs and peered into the living room. Alice was sitting on the couch, seemingly alone as she absently flipped pages of a magazine.

"Hi," she said without looking up.

"Hello," Malakai returned, glancing around curiously. "Where is everyone?"

"Carlisle and Esme are up in the lab, Emmett and Jasper are coming up from the lake and Rosalie and Edward are. . .well they were in the garage."

Malakai sat down casually at the other end of the sofa. "And you?"

"I had a feeling you would come down soon," she said, turning a page. "So how are things in Korea? That was Korean you were speaking, wasn't it?"

He made a sour face. "Things in Korea are not going as well as I'd hoped. This idiot keeps pushing his child pornography on me—every single time I call—and I always have to say to him 'No, I don't want your kiddie porn. I just want the heroin.' And then he'll say something like 'No, no. Excellent kiddie porn. You have—' and then I usually have to say, 'No. I need heroin, you idiot, heroin. I—'" He caught sight of Alice's face. "I'm kidding. Alice, I'm kidding." He shook his head sadly. "No one ever gets that joke."

Alice blinked. "You say it so seriously."

He smiled softly, trying to ignore the pressure building behind his eyes. "There's a small computer company in South Korea looking for someone to fund their research. Very cutting edge stuff, I'm told. But my correspondent there mistranslated one of my messages and, well, you get the idea . . ."

The sliding glass door opened and Emmett came bounding in, his signature grin on his face. "I thought maybe you had died on us," he said when he saw Malakai.

"Not just yet," the blue-eyed vampire said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Though I am getting this fantastic headache right in the center of my head." His pale fingers probed around his eyes for some kind of relief to the sudden and unwarranted pain throbbing behind his eyes. It felt like Felix's monstrous hands were trying to crush his skull. "Jesus, what the hell." Where had it come from and how was he supposed to get rid of it?

"Do you want me to get Carlisle?" Alice asked, already half way to the stairs.

"No," Malakai said quickly, confused by why he said it. Why would he want Carlisle? He would want to know what other unusual and unnatural things were happening to his patient. Malakai could hear his now. 'As your doctor . . .' Ah, perhaps that was why. Carlisle saw him only as a mysterious and interesting case, not a friend. He heard familiar steps coming down the stairs. "Mrs. Cullen," he said, his eyes still hidden behind his hands.

"Yes, Mr. Ross." Esme smiled as she floated into the room before her tone turned concerned. "Oh, are you all right?"

"Quite. Or I shall be in a moment. Please, may I borrow your hands?"

"My hands?" Even as he asked, she gave them to him. "What's the matter?"

"He has a headache," Alice informed her.

"Oh, shall I get Carlisle?"

"No," Malakai said again, pressing her cold fingers to his throbbing temples as he spoke. "I think it shall pass soon. You know, I had headaches all the time as a boy. They always passed. I remember my mother . . ." He trailed off, startled to see the missing Cullens sitting and standing in various places around the room.

"What about your mother?" Esme asked kindly.

"I was always suffering from headaches growing up. I was horribly farsighted; the closer things were the less I could see them. It was especially bad when I started school. Every day we would read from these wretchedly dull books and I, of course, couldn't read a damn word on the page. I got awful marks in school, especially in reading. I don't think I really learned to read until I was twelve when a doctor recommended glasses. Anyway, I would always come home with these horrible headaches from trying to read all day and my mother; my mother never lit a fire in her room in the afternoon, even in the winter. She said it made her too drowsy to sew. So her hands were always cold when I came home, crying sometimes, and she would place her hands on my head until I felt better."

"That's a lovely story," Esme said when he was done.

"Thank you."

"You couldn't read until you were twelve?"

Malakai looked at Emmett with a didn't-I-just-say-that? look on his face. "It wasn't uncommon for the time."

"Do you remember other things about your mother?" Alice, who remembered nothing of her parents, looked at him with something of envy in her eyes.

"Oh yes. She was the most exquisite woman I've ever known." He took Esme's hands from his forehead and held them for a moment. "Thank you, Esme, I believe I am cured."

"I have a question."

Malakai turned his blue eyes to Jasper, surprised, as everyone else was, to hear him speak. "By all means," he said, wondering by the young man's expression if he shouldn't be nervous.

"If your eyes are blue, does that mean you see differently than us? Are they your human eyes?"

"Oh," Malakai said, surprised that that was all. "Well, I assume they're my human eyes. I had blue eyes before, but as far as seeing differently . . . not really. Some colors don't seem as vibrant as they used to, reds in particular, but I have yet to return to my trusty reading glasses, though I'm sure it is only a matter of time." He drummed his pale fingers on the arm rest. "Has Carlisle not left his office all evening?" he asked the room.

"You have a very devoted doctor," Esme said, sitting down beside him.

Two stories up, Carlisle was sitting at his desk, chewing his pen to bits. In the last—well, he had lost track of time, but had it been ten minutes or ten hours, he was no closer to finding anything than when Malakai wandered off earlier that afternoon. He had run every conceivable test he could think to do with his limited resources in the lab. Before he knew it, the sun was up and his Cartier was ticking closer to eight o'clock by the second. Feeling as though he had accomplished nothing at all, he reluctantly put down his battered pen and went to change for work. He was pulling on his shirt when Malakai walked in.

"Carlisle."

"Malakai," Carlisle replied evenly, buttoning his shirt from the top down. "I didn't hear you knock."

Malakai smirked. "Shall I try that again?"

"Don't bother." Carlisle moved to his closet and selected a tie, blue, and his slate gray suit coat. He had to be to work by nine and he was running late. "What is it?"

Malakai still had the same smile on his face, his blue eyes scheming. "Try the yellow one."

Carlisle exchanged the blue for the yellow without a second thought. "What is it you need again?" he asked, distracted as he wound a Windsor around his neck.

"Nothing I _need_, per se," Malakai said, equally distracted by the state of Carlisle's knot. "No, that's wrong." Before Carlisle had even finished, Malakai had stepped to him, jerked him around and tied a new knot. "All these years and you still can't tie a tie. How did you manage without me?"

Carlisle smiled indulgently. "I suppose it will always remain a mystery."

Malakai's sigh was nostalgic. "Whatever happened to us, Carlisle? And don't say Paris. I know it wasn't that."

Carlisle removed Malakai's lingering hands from his jacket and didn't know how to answer. It had been a great number of things, most which seemed so trivial now that he looked back on it all. Carlisle looked into his friend's face for some kind of remorse, but finding none, he deflected the question with another. "What is it you came up here for?" He searched for his leather briefcase while Malakai made up his mind.

"There's something I've wanted to say to you since I arrived here. Of course, every time I thought to tell you, something else would get in the way . . ."

Carlisle found his briefcase under the bed and dusted it off. "Concerning your blue eyes?"

"No, not really. I just thought to tell you before you leave for the day."

"Carlisle." Alice's bright face appeared around the door. "There's been an accident on 172. Traffic is backed up past the East River. I would stay on 43 if I were you."

"Thank you, Alice. I'll keep that in mind."

Alice nodded and tossed a grin at Malakai who looked like he might turn violent if he didn't get a chance to say what he had to say soon. Carlisle intervened before that could happen. "What is it you were saying, Malakai?"

Malakai traced his cool eyes over Carlisle's face, looking purposefully uninterested. "No, never mind. It's not urgent." Alice ducked around him as he went out of the room. "Alice sort of ruined it."

"Me?" Alice laughed beside him and the two of them strode down the stairs where Jasper was waiting at the front door, frowning. "I didn't do a thing."

Malakai, respecting Jasper's slim tolerance of him, didn't say what he wanted to say but instead said, "Have fun at school. Don't learn too much."

Alice twiddled her fingers at him, still smiling, and in a flash, both of them were out the door. A car started and in a crunch of gravel and a boom of grumbling bass, the five Cullen children were gone. Malakai watched the closed door for a few seconds more, then, hearing Carlisle on the steps above, he moved through to the kitchen where Esme was holding two small stone squares, one in each hand, deep in thought. She turned when she heard him approach and smiled. "Hello again."

"Good morning, Mrs. Cullen. May I ask what it is you're doing?"

"Oh," Esme said with a small sigh, "I'm just trying to decide which of these would go better in the back splash. What do you think? The redder one or this bluer one?"

Malakai looked at the two near-identical square tiles and then at the neutral tones of the kitchen. He made a noise in the back of his throat like he was thinking deeply about it and said, "The red one, I think. It brings out the color of your hair. Yes, definitely that one."

Esme couldn't help a smile. "But this one would compliment your eyes."

"Hm," Malakai said, enjoying whatever game they were playing. He heard Carlisle in the other room. "Well, in that case it'll have to be both. And then we'll have to find something in white to match Carlisle's soul, don't you think, Carlisle?"

Esme turned to her husband as he came, looking between them, to say his goodbyes. "I'm not quite sure that's what Esme had in mind," he said, and then to Esme, "Have you seen my keys? They aren't in my briefcase and I'm not sure if I left them in my car or they're—" Esme flashed across the kitchen and back, dropping the jangling keys into Carlisle's waiting hand. "—in the cupboard, thank you." He kissed her fondly.

"You look nice," she murmured.

"Thank you," he said as Malakai's mouth twisted up into a clever smile. "I plan on being back around two with however much blood they'll let me carry out," Carlisle told him. "Esme knows how to reach me if there's an emergency."

"I'll be fine. Besides, if anything happens Esme knows CPR, right?"

Esme's smile was reassuring. "I'll call if anything comes up," she promised.

"Good lord," Malakai said when Carlisle was finally gone. "I thought he would never leave."

"You seem eager to see him go."

"I have been looking forward to it all morning."


	16. Wednesday Afternoon

**Wednesday Afternoon**

True to his word, Carlisle's Mercedes wound its way back to the hilltop house early that afternoon. With him was a small cooler of blood, sitting very still in the passenger seat. He had been disappointed they had allowed him only six pints. And the few calls he had made to other local hospitals and blood banks had secured him only two more; another disappointment. In fact, the whole day had been disappointing in general. It had been particularly disappointing to him that it had taken a phone call from Edward mid morning to learn of Malakai's new . . . what else to call it but a symptom? What Carlisle really wanted to know was why Malakai hadn't told him himself. Didn't he think it was important? He shot a reproachful look at Malakai's outlandish car as he parked his own in the garage.

Relax, it seemed to say, winking lazily at him in the brief shimmer of sun, you're taking it too personal.

Maybe he was. Esme hadn't called, which seemed to suggest nothing more had become of that headache. He got out of his car, sighing, and let himself into the house. Esme came to greet him, descending the staircase with unnatural grace. She swayed lightly to his side, looking mischievous. "How was work?" she asked, reaching to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Fine," Carlisle said without much thought, though a more accurate word for his day would have been weird, awkward or annoying. Word had spread quickly of Dr. Cullen's mysterious and very attractive half brother. One nurse had asked if Malakai was married, and not three seconds after Carlisle had said truthfully "I don't think so" ten more nurses, one of them engaged or already married, had asked for him number, and when they learned Carlisle didn't know the number, they had given him theirs. He should have just lied and said yes. "Where's Malakai?"

"Showering." Her smile was hiding something.

Carlisle heard it in her voice and had to look at her again, really look at her this time. "Your hair is wet." Her dress was changed too.

"Yes, I know." She coolly lifted the plastic cooler out of Carlisle's hand and glided into the kitchen. Carlisle followed like a curious puppy. "You won't believe what Kai did. He swears it was an accident, but I think he did it on purpose."

"What did he do?" Carlisle asked, trying to keep his tone neutral and very nearly failing.

Esme tucked the cooler in the fridge and gave a playful sigh before she answered. "You missed a wonderful day at the lake. Kai and I spent the whole morning building a sand castle, of all things."

"A what?" Suddenly Carlisle didn't feel nearly as anxious.

Esme laughed beautifully. "Yes, isn't it silly? I haven't played in the sand like that in ages, and Kai is surprisingly good at it. We were nearly done with it when he decided he would make Rapunzel's tower. I watched. He was working on the roof when—he says the wind caught it, but I think he pushed it—I was buried in sand."

Carlisle felt a smile tugging at his mouth. "Why didn't you move?" Malakai would be the one to pull a stunt like that. It amused him, too, to see Esme so out of character.

Esme was giggling as she folded her arms around him and laid her damp head against his shoulder. "It's funny you two should say the same thing. Do you know, it took me nearly fifteen minutes to get all of that sand out of my hair. I imagine it would have taken longer had I not still been wearing that silly hat."

"What silly hat?"

"Oh!" she suddenly said. "I have to show you." She untangled herself from him and was gone in a second. She returned a few moments later with a wide brimmed woven straw hat with a tasteful black satin bow sitting prettily upon her head. "What do you think?"

Carlisle stared for a moment. It didn't look bad, in fact it was almost . . . "Where did you get that?"

"It's Malakai's. Or rather his girlfriend's."

"Girlfriend?"

She nodded. "Her name is Rachel and she lives in Chicago. He showed me a picture. She's very pretty."

"She must be if Malakai's dating her. A girlfriend . . ." he trailed off.

"You sound surprised." Esme had that same secretive air about her as she swiped the hat off and sat it on the kitchen counter.

Carlisle looked at the hat with a new sense of meaning. "I'm only surprised he didn't say anything sooner." He returned her smile. "It sounds like the two of you had fun today. I'm glad. I feared you might not like him."

"Of course I like him. He has been paying me compliments all day. I feel like I'm seventeen all over again, though I hardly believe half of what he says."

"Malakai never pays a compliment he doesn't mean." He grazed her cheek with his fingertips, brushed her long hair from her face.

A smile warmed her lips, thinking back to what Malakai had said earlier that afternoon.

_"Esme, may I tell you that I have never seen anyone so marvelous as you in that sundress." _

_"You have already. Twice, in fact."_

_Malakai laughed as he scooped another handful of sand from their moat. "Have I? Then may I tell you something else instead?"_

_"Please."_

_He paused for a moment, squinting at her in the sun with his beautiful eyes, then turned again to his work, as if to keep from looking at her, and said "You know, I like you. Do you want to know why?" He didn't wait for her answer. "In all my years, I have never seen anyone—vampire or human—look at anyone the way Carlisle looks at you. You have done something to him, I don't know what, but I hardly recognize him. . ."_

She certainly hoped he meant it. "How long do you have before you have to get back?"

"Not very." He didn't look pleased. "How's our patient?"

"He appears perfectly fine. He was singing in Italian earlier. Opera, I think."

Carlisle lifted his eyes and ears to the floor above. Yes, there was definitely something coming from up there. He left the kitchen. Tempting as it was to forget work for the rest of the afternoon, as a doctor, he had an accountability and responsibility to his patients. Right now his patient was Malakai, whether Malakai cared to accept it or not.

He rose up the steps, and as he did, the singing at the end of the hall grew steadily louder. As he walked down the hall, the smooth tenor voice spilling out of his bedroom grew steadily clearer over the hum of the shower, though Carlisle was not paying attention to the words. He was still mulling over all Esme had said to him. If he was being perfectly honest, the revelation of Malakai's girlfriend had set him off track. Who was she? And why— No, he couldn't concern himself with that now. There were bigger and certainly more important things to worry about than some mystery girl miles away who had been swept away with the mysteries of Malakai's life once before, been blinded by them even. He was determined not to let that happen a second time.

He stood outside the master bath, frowning, wondering whether he should knock and go in, or wait for Malakai to come out. "You may as well come in," Malakai hollered through the door, breaking off his song. "I hate talking through doors. You're home early, aren't you?" he said when he felt Carlisle was in the room.

"It's nearly twenty after two."

"In that case you're late. What's kept you?"

Carlisle felt he need not answer, and did not, but rather folded his arms across his chest, positioned himself against the vanity, and said "I brought you some blood. It isn't very much, but I hope it shall last through the weekend. Do you think you can manage on eight pints until Monday?"

Malakai didn't answer. There was only the sound of running water.

"Malakai."

"What!" Malakai yelped, as if roused too quickly from a daydream. "I'm sorry Carlisle. I haven't heard a word you've said."

Carlisle's eyes snapped to the thick white cotton curtain. "Is something the matter?"

"No, nothing's the matter. It just suddenly occurred to me that you are in the same room as me naked. I don't think that's happened before." He laughed at the novelty of it. "And may I also say, though I am sure you already know, that your shampoo is amazing."

There was an over-exaggerated pause. Carlisle pursed his lips unconsciously. Malakai's talent for spontaneously changing the subject never ceased to elude Carlisle. His ability to make a situation unnecessarily awkward was also second to none. ". . . Thank you."

"Have you said yet why you were late?" Malakai asked again, ignoring the thanks.

Carlisle, who had in fact been on time, decided to use the opportunity to bring up something that had been nagging at him all the way home. "No. You'll never guess who came up to me today."

"Then I won't."

"Dr. Dhupam."

The curtain crept back and Malakai's blue eyes looked out at him beneath a head of sudsy black hair. "Who?"

"Dhupam. He's usually on a separate floor, but today it seemed that everywhere I went, Dr. Dhupam wasn't far behind. Finally he came up to me. Do you know what he said?"

"Should I?" Malakai let the curtain fall back, thinking it would not interest him.

"He asked how you were."

"How kind."

"And then he asked, since he said you hadn't called, if that meant your insomnia had passed."

"Oh, _that_ Dr. Dhupam," he said, as if there were a dozen Dhupams at St. Mary's.

"Might I ask why he was under the impression you are having trouble sleeping?"

"You may." Malakai paused for a moment to rinse the last of the soap from his hair. "He tried to kick me out of the lounge and I had to explain that I knew you . . . I may have asked what he did, he may have told me, and then I may have mentioned I hadn't been sleeping at all the past few days. He looked rather alarmed after that and gave me his card."

Carlisle weighed the explanation. "I don't know what you were planning when you talked to him, but he's married."

"Is that what the ring on his finger was for? I thought it was because he was gay." He rolled his eyes, though Carlisle couldn't see him. "Oh, bugger off. I was never planning to touch the poor man. Honestly. I had quite forgotten him until you mentioned him."

Carlisle's mouth turned down. He wasn't sure yet if he believed his old friend; it wouldn't be the first time Malakai had lied to hide his true motives. What was stopping him now?

"If there's nothing else?" Malakai's indignant tone seemed to suggest he wouldn't be thrilled if there was.

"No. That's all for now." Maybe he should leave it alone. Malakai could be telling the truth, rare as it was.

"Good. I hope you won't bring it up later. You invariably do at some time or other." The faucet creaked and the water ceased and just as Carlisle made up his mind to make himself scarce, Malakai had whisked away the curtain. He looked somewhat perturbed over what Carlisle had said. "Whenever it suits your means, that is." There was a pause after he said this. The earlier silence seemed to return, and a moment passed in which Malakai became conscious of his nakedness, and then another came and went in which he disregarded it. Carlisle was around naked people all the time. It was one of the perks of being a doctor. "What are you looking at me with that face for?" he exclaimed with a laugh. "You're the one leaning on my towel."

Carlisle twisted around and found that indeed he was. He held it out silently and Malakai took it from him, still grinning. At least, Carlisle thought in a touch of sour humor, this "illness" had yet to damage Malakai's impertinence. The blue-eyed vampire toweled off his head vigorously, not the least bit bothered by his nakedness or Carlisle's presence. He seemed completely unconscious of it, even, as he mopped the water from his arms and chest. Carlisle elected to take his leave. He had almost made it out the door when Malakai called him back.

"If there's anything else you need me to do," he said, his eyes fixed upon the knob on a vanity drawer, apparently deep in thought, "before whatever it is arrives on Monday, that is, I'm more than willing."

"That's . . . very considerate of you," Carlisle allowed slowly, wondering what had changed since this morning. Maybe Esme had talked some sense into him. Maybe that's what she had been smiling about. "There's not much else you can do. I only need you to be honest with me; I can't help you if you keep things from me."

Malakai looked away from him sheepishly. "Yes, I do feel bad I forgot to tell you about that."

"How do you forget something like that?"

Malakai flashed him a doleful smile. "I'm ADD, remember?"

Carlisle rolled his eyes, something he rarely did, and sighed.

Malakai thought to shift the focus from himself before Carlisle started yelling at him or changed his mind about curing him. "I'm sorry about what happened in Forks." Carlisle's expression changed rapidly. "Esme told me."

"Esme told you." Carlisle's voice sounded distant.

"Yes. Should I not have asked?" Malakai watched him intently. "It wasn't the only thing we talked about, if that helps."

"Oh yes." Carlisle went along with it, hoping to get off the subject of his failure. "She told me about your castle. And the hat."

"And Rachel, I take it?"

"Yes, and Rachel."

"Surely she didn't tell you everything!" Malakai looked suddenly stricken, mortified. He tied the towel around his waist and all but ran from the room. Carlisle watched after him with a mixed expression.

"Esme!" Malakai called from his room, as he jumped into his jeans.

She was beside him in an instant.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" He looked into her face earnestly, his sweater clutched tightly in his fist.

Her eyes grew minutely wider as they flicked toward Carlisle's nervous approaching step. "I didn't breathe a word. Has he guessed?"

"Tell me what?"

They both looked at him. "It's a secret," Malakai said.

"_What_ is a secret?"

They both looked at each other. Esme's smile was back. Malakai was scowling. "Don't you have to take out an appendix or something?"

"Not until almost four. How did you know—?" With unnatural speed, Carlisle was all but pushed out of his own house. "What's going on?"

"You'll see," Esme said coyly.

With a quick shove, Malakai forced Carlisle through the door and shut it in his face.


	17. Wednesday Evening

**Wednesday Evening**

"I wonder if we should tell him," Esme said when Carlisle finally drove off. "He doesn't like surprises."

"Esme." Malakai raised his eyebrows in acute horror. "I thought we agreed. If he found out prematurely, if we told him, he would . . . Well, he would be Carlisle and ruin the whole thing. No. We can't. He never allowed me to buy him presents when we were living in London, and he won't let me pay him now. I have to do something. Please. Esme." He looked at her pitifully. "I want to do this for him, for both of you."

"I didn't know you were so passionate about it," Esme said with reverence, quite taken by his doleful blue eyes. "Of course I won't tell him," she went on, "but I don't know if I can say the same for the others."

Malakai understood at once. "You don't think Alice saw, do you?" He looked alarmed. "You don't think she would have told anyone if she had, do you? Oh, I swear, I'll never—"

As if on cue, the telephone rang. Esme answered it carefully.

"What is this I see about a present for Carlisle?" Alice never bothered with hellos.

"Is it Alice? Can I speak to her?"

"Just a second, Alice," Esme said and handed the phone to Malakai.

"Alice—"

"Don't you think that's a little extravagant? Why not something more practical? Like a book. Or a car even."

"Not you too!" Malakai massaged the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Alice, please tell me you haven't already told everyone."

"I'm on my way to meet Jasper right now," she said matter-of-factly.

"You can't tell him."

"What? Why not? It's not a present for Jasper, too, is it?"

"No, but—"

"So why can't I tell him?"

"It's supposed to be a secret, Alice! The more people who know, the less of a secret it is!"

Alice laughed.

Malakai bit his lip. He had to think of something to threaten her with to keep her from blabbing everything. "If you say anything, Alice, if you so much as hint at the word present, I'll . . . I'll never tell you one more word about me."

"And if I do keep quiet?"

"Why, I'll tell you anything you like."

"Anything?"

"Yes, whatever you want."

Alice deliberated. "All right," she agreed. "I won't say anything." She hung up before Malakai could thank her.

"Anything she can think of?" Esme lifted an eyebrow. "I think you may regret making that promise."

Malakai looked grim. "You know, you're probably right," he said with a sigh as he wandered into the kitchen. "Do I smell blood?"

~*~  
When the Cullen kids returned a few hours later (Carlisle was still stitching up his patient), they found the house in much the same condition as they had left it, much to Emmett's disappointment.

_Honestly._ Jasper shook his head as they all climbed out of Rosalie's car. _What did he think would happen? The house turn pink while we were away?_

Jasper was in much the same mood as he had been when they had left: unhappy with their guest—or intruder, as he preferred.

"Why don't you like him?" Edward had asked in Physics that morning. "He can't be that unbearable, can he?"

Jasper had scowled at him. "You may not be able to read his thoughts, but his moods are crystal clear to me." He has to have a new one every hour on the hour. It's making me nauseous.

Edward hadn't pressed the subject. He didn't think that was the real reason, but he wasn't going to say anything about it. Jasper was too proud to admit it to himself but Edward thought the real reason Jasper disliked their house-guest was not for his constant mood swings but simply out of jealousy. In Edward's opinion, Jasper didn't trust Malakai around Alice. Ordinarily, Edward would have thought it borderline juvenile had not Carlisle been equally wary at the thought of Malakai home alone with Esme. What that said about the man's character, Edward wasn't sure, but neither Esme nor Alice seemed the least bit troubled by him. Alice, in fact, thought him exceptionally fascinating and didn't understand why Jasper didn't.

"If you think a change in his mood every so often is aggravating," she had whispered during break, "try seeing a new future every twenty minutes."

Alice had claimed, and Edward confirmed, that she had been getting contradicting visions concerning Malakai and his future all day.

"It's just weird. Ever since Carlisle asked me to keep an eye on him, his future keeps waffling. It's as if he can't make up his mind. In some of my visions he gets better no problem, but then in others he gets a little worse before he recovers. And I've seen a few where he stays exactly as he is now and even a couple where he turns back into a human."

"What does that mean? He's choosing to be sick?" Jasper didn't like the idea. "That doesn't make sense. Why would he purposely do this to himself?"

"I want to say it's someone else and not Malakai who's changing their mind, but I don't understand how that can be when the only third party doing anything with him is Carlisle. And he hasn't been in a single one of my visions all day."

Edward frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"I know. Carlisle wouldn't do that, right? It has to be someone else, someone I just can't see yet. At least, that's what I'm hoping. Maybe if I can get him to tell me more about himself I'll get a better picture."

That was half the reason why she disappeared so quickly into the house after Emmett, and that was the half that Edward told Jasper. The other half—her secret deal with Malakai—Edward spared him. He didn't think it would be wise. Not because he feared what Malakai might do to him if he told—he didn't—instead, he kept his mouth shut for Jasper's sake. If Jasper knew the love of his life had had intimate contact with the so-called intruder (and secrets were considered intimate) he would flip his lid. It was better if Jasper thought Alice's curiosity was strictly limited to her quest for a clear picture. Edward didn't want to burst her bubble, but he thought the chances of that happening today were slim, even if Malakai had "promised."

The two of them walked slowly across the front lawn, Edward a step or two behind Jasper, who looked like someone being led to a very violent and premature death. He managed to force himself up the front steps and onto the porch, but couldn't bring himself to take the few remaining steps through the door. Edward stopped beside him. Inside, the conversation had already started:

"Going golfing later?" Emmett asked in an overly smug voice. It had been Emmett's ingenious idea that, after his comment about Malakai's shoes had been taken as a compliment when it wasn't intended as one, every day he was going to find something about Malakai's wardrobe to make fun of. Edward had first heard of it on the drive home and immediately thought it was a stupid idea. When he saw the target of the day in Emmett's mind—Malakai's red and gray argyle sweater—he still thought it was a stupid idea.

"Golfing?" Malakai took a moment to get it before he laughed. "Why no, Emmett, I can't say that I am." Edward tried in vain to read Malakai's thoughts to get a sense of what he might say before he said it, but the static remained as impenetrable as ever, and he remained just as unprepared as everyone else did when Malakai turned to Emmett and said "Say, I like your pants. Where did you get them? Ghetto R Us?"

It was a ridiculous thing to say, and very childish, but Edward couldn't help a smirk. Emmett had had it coming. Edward glanced at Jasper and saw he hadn't cracked a smile. On the contrary, he looked to Edward to be in pain.

Edward rolled his eyes. "What are you going to do?" he tried to reason with him in a whisper. "Live outside the whole time he's here? That will really go over well with Alice."

"Ah, Rosalie," they heard Malakai say, "I didn't think it was possible, but you grow more lovely each time I see you."

Rosalie's smile turned smug.

Emmett frowned. "What's wrong with my jeans?"

Out on the porch, Jasper glowered. "You don't have to wait for me."

"You're being ridiculous," Edward cajoled him. "I'm not overly found of him myself, but you are being ridiculous."

"I'm just not used to anyone being so chipper all the time." _It's altogether the wrong emotion to have when you're dying, isn't it?_

"Maybe that's how he copes." Edward shrugged. "Or maybe he's just distracted by all the new attention and he'll be depressed later."

Inside, Alice, in all her fiery energy, flung herself down on the sofa next to Malakai. "What about me?"

Malakai turned to her. "That, dear Alice, entirely depends on how you behaved this afternoon."

"I didn't say anything."

"Wait a second." Malakai and Alice looked at Rosalie, who looked confused. "What didn't Alice tell us this afternoon?"

Malakai and Alice looked just as confused back. "I don't believe Alice told you anything."

"Which means you owe me a story," Alice reminded cheekily.

_All right_, Jasper conceded. _I'll go in. But I won't talk to him._

Edward nodded seriously and made sure to shut the door behind them.

Can you read his thoughts yet?Alice asked him. Edward shook his head once and took a seat next to Emmett, who was still preoccupied with his jeans. She turned back to Malakai. "I thought you said you didn't need glasses." She reached across him and swiped a pair of fire engine red reading glasses off the side table.

Malakai watched her with interest. "I don't. Jasper reminded me that I had a pair in my suitcase. I like to wear them sometimes when the mood strikes."

"I bet you like to do a lot of things when the mood strikes." She tried them on. "What do you think, Jasper?" Alice turned to him as he came in, the candy apple frames perched on her delicate nose, and grinned.

Jasper glanced her way. "Nice," he said. He crossed the room and sat as far away as possible from Malakai, looking purposefully for the TV remote.

"They look good on you," Malakai agreed, never taking his smiling eyes off her. "No, keep them. Consider them my housewarming gift to you."

Alice grinned and put them back on. "Speaking of gifts—"

"Hold on," Emmett said all of a sudden. Alice and Malakai glanced at each other skeptically. What would he say now? "You sew?" Emmett was looking at the single blue houndstooth sock lying on the floor beside a needle and thread. He had just now noticed what everyone else had already forgotten.

Malakai tried very hard not to smile. He could tell they were going to have a wonderful friendship. He scooped up the fallen sock and laid it on the armrest alongside the other. "But of course," he said. "What did you think my mother did? Just let me go once she cured my headaches? Oh no. I can sew all sorts of things. I could sew you a new pair of pants if you like."

Emmett didn't say anything after that.

". . . Anyway," Alice said while Rosalie shot Emmett a look. "I have a question about our agreement." She seemed to forget they weren't the only two in the room.

"By all means."

"When you said anything . . ."

"Yes, I did promise anything."

"Then I want to know how you were made."

Malakai looked hesitant. "Well," he said after a moment with a shrug of his shoulders, "It's rather straightforward. You see, my parents decided a year or two after they lost their first child that they wanted to try for another. It took them a while, but eventually—"

"That's not what I meant."

Malakai's smile was faint. "Alice,I have already promised I would tell you, but I will not—cannot, in fact—tell you now. Please don't ask again. I hate to tell you no."

"Then what will you tell me?"

"Nearly anything else."

The buzz of the television was the only sound as Alice grudgingly searched for something else. Edward didn't understand why Alice was so fixated on Malakai's creation. What did it matter how it happened? He stood up, no longer able to sit idly, and walked out of the room in search of Esme.

Malakai didn't notice his absence, he couldn't help smiling at Alice. She really was a very charming girl. "Alice," he said softly, the smile in his voice now, too. "Alice." He laid his fingers gently on her forearm. He opened his mouth to say something more, offer a story to distract no doubt, when out of the corner of his eye he saw flash across the TV Jasper was so grossly mistreating, something he thought he would never see again. He turned his head to see if he had really seen what he thought he saw, but Jasper was already ten channels ahead.

"Wait a minute. Jasper."

Jasper stopped, his thumb poised over the channel up button, but gave no other indication that he had heard Malakai.

"Can you flip it back? I think—Yes, right there. Well! I'll be damned." He said this somewhat incredulously, as if it had been his face on the tube and not an expansive, generic view of sand and an ordinary, if not a very large and oblong, rock sitting in the middle of it. "Do you know, I think I have been there."

"To the Sahara?" Alice didn't find it at all surprising, though she was a little perplexed why he should be so excited to see sand. Jasper thought he was insane.

"No, no—well, yes, technically I suppose so, but no. I meant that rock. Carlisle!—oh. Well, he isn't here, but Carlisle and I—I remember it clearly now—were, or he was, rather, standing, I am sure of it, on that rock."

Rosalie and Emmett, who had thus far very patiently been waiting their turn to break into the conversation, took the opportunity and said in near unison "What were you doing in the Sahara?"

Malakai looked quite pleased with himself. "Oh a number of things. Sight-seeing, terrorizing the local wildlife, getting hopelessly turned around. Carlisle. . ." Malakai trailed off and looked again to Alice. "Unless Alice would prefer something else?"

"This will do," Alice said coolly. "For now."

"Well then, I'm glad." Malakai drummed his fingers on the sofa arm while he thought how best to start. "I think it was the tenth day when we stumbled upon that rock for the second time. Carlisle was very unhappy about it."

~*~  
"Well, it's safe to say you've gone and gotten us lost again," Carlisle called down from his scouting post.

"We're not lost; I know exactly where we are." Malakai jumped nimbly onto the great rock and looked around like he knew what he was doing. There was a smile hiding behind his lips even as he said "No, never mind, you're right. We're lost."

It was 1842 now and they were no longer in London, nor were they in America, which was where Carlisle had wanted to be six years ago. As it were, he was standing in the middle of the largest desert of Earth with the world's worst liar. Carlisle knew it too. He knew Malakai habitually bent the truth to fill his own agenda. He knew it and still let the man manipulate him.

Malakai clamped him cheerily on the shoulder. "Don't look so glum! We have only to keep walking west." He pointed toward the setting sun. "We'll be to Algiers in no time."

"Kai, I have no desire to go to Algiers, and I have even less desire to walk through a desert to get there. Can't we return to London? Haven't you seen enough of the world for now?"

"That is in entirely the wrong direction. London is north. I want to go west."

"Kai," Carlisle said severely. "I don't know how much more I can take of this. We haven't found anything sustainable in nearly two weeks. I'm not feeding off scorpions and lizards while you chase nomads around in circles for days on end. I won't do it."

Malakai turned Carlisle toward him and looked him in the eye. For a long time neither man said a word.

"Carlisle," Malakai spoke deliberately. "You are far too pretty to be worried about that. Besides, I like it when your eyes are dark. It's more becoming, I think."

Carlisle glared hotly. "In that case I shall starve myself longer, so long as it makes you happy. Would you like me to never hunt again?"

Malakai let out a great laugh. "And your sarcasm is much improved as well!" He shook his head in wonder. "Of course you should hunt again. Hunt whenever you like. What do I care?" He patted Carlisle's cheek affectionately. "Do you know . . ."

"Do I know what, Kai? Kai?" Carlisle's steely black eyes flickered to Malakai's maroon ones. He was staring at something over Carlisle's shoulder. "What is it?" Carlisle turned his head and scanned the horizon. He spotted what had captured Malakai's attention just as Malakai's hands fell from his shoulders.

"Is that a camel? It looks like a camel."

Carlisle looked again and saw that it was indeed a camel plodding down the sloping dune to meet them.

"I think he's carrying someone." Malakai's eyes gleamed at the prospect.

"Kai," Carlisle warned, but the young vampire had already slipped off the rock and was moving slowly toward the approaching shape as if in a daze. "Kai, don't." Carlisle was quick to follow and quicker still to grab his friend firmly around the arm. "Kai, you can't. It's just a little boy."

Malakai tugged against him. "I know what it is, Carlisle. Let me go."

"You can't do that to a child."

"Carlisle, I'm not going to eat him."

"What are you going to do then? Say hello?"

The two watched as the boy and his camel drew steadily closer. Malakai continued to pull pitifully against Carlisle's hold, and let out a soft whine like a dog denied his favorite plaything. Carlisle tightened his grip.

"Carlisle!" Malakai finally exclaimed, exasperated. "We're in the middle of a desert! We're both practically starving, nothing around for acres. Don't you think it strange this boy and his camel are headed right for us? Surely God—"

"God wants nothing—"

"—has taken pity on us."

"—to do with us." Carlisle shook his head. "No. The boy must think we're a mirage."

"Or perhaps gods ourselves," Malakai observed. "Please Carlisle, let me go. The poor boy looks like he will collapse any moment. Won't we help him?"

"Help him? Help him how? We have no water, no food. What help can we be?"

"Faith, Carlisle, faith. If we cannot help him then we cannot help him. And if we cannot help him, be

happy God loves you enough to send you a camel in your time of need."

"Kai," Carlisle said in a tired voice, "you don't even believe in God."

Malakai stopped struggling for a moment and looked back at Carlisle. "What a thing to say! Of course I do! I hear nothing but good things about Him."

~*~  
"And then Carlisle—Oh, Carlisle, I was just talking about you." They all turned and looked at Carlisle, who had just come in.

The doctor looked briefly about the room, his eyes settling on Malakai. "Can I see you in my office?" It wasn't really a question.

Malakai looked from Carlisle to Alice and back again. He wanted to finish his story. "Now?"

"Please." Carlisle didn't wait.

"Excuse me," Malakai apologized to the room and followed Carlisle up the stairs. He passed Esme and Edward coming down as he was going up. Carlisle was already in his office. "If this is about earlier," Malakai said, "I'm sorry, but—"

"No, it's not about that." Carlisle pulled a manila folder from his briefcase and set it on his desk. "Upstairs, if you don't mind," he said as he set out another folder. He looked as though he were thinking very intently about something or other.

Not knowing what else to do, Malakai let himself into the attic lab, hoping whatever he was up here for didn't require any more needles. Carlisle was two steps behind him. He snapped on the lights and Malakai jumped. He crossed the lab without a word and bent over the computer in the far corner. A moment later, a loud harsh clanging filled the small space as the MRI came to life.

"Am I to get my head examined?" Malakai asked through the noise.

Carlisle reached into his pocket and produced a single sheet of parchment paper, folded and refolded many times. He held it out to Malakai. "What is this?"


	18. Purple Sneakers

**Purple Sneakers**

Troubled by Carlisle's bated expression, Malakai took the letter cautiously. He didn't have to read very long.

"Oh," he said, mildly horrified but trying his best not to look it. But how had Carlisle. . .? "You went through my things?"

"Of course I didn't go through your things!" Carlisle hissed under the whir of the MRI. "I found it lying under your car after you locked me out of my house."

"Oh," Malakai said again. "Well . . . This is awkward. It's not what it sounds like—."

"I don't care," Carlisle spoke brusquely, "what it sounds like. I only want to know why you have it at all."

"Oh," Malakai said for the third time, his blue eyes puzzled. "In that case . . . I have no explanation. I didn't even know I was carrying it around. Shit, I wonder what the hell else I have lying about in my suitcase now that I think about it." He looked uncharacteristically worried for all of a second before he noticed Carlisle again. "Don't give me that face! I'm not lying, I swear."

Carlisle said nothing. He simply waited. He would wait all night if he had to, but one way or another Malakai was going to give him an explanation. Malakai seemed to sense this and consequently said nothing as well. How could he? This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He was here to be cured, not reprimanded and preached to. Leave it to Carlisle to turn such a small matter into the Spanish Inquisition.

For the longest time the only sound between them was the horrible clanging of the MRI.

~*~  
"I wonder what's going on up there," Alice thought aloud.

"I'm sure it's nothing Carlisle wants to worry us with," Esme assured as she and Edward rejoined the congregation.

Jasper took the opportunity to speak up now that Malakai was out of the room. "I bet Carlisle just found some dirty magazine in his trunk."

Emmett nodded absently as Edward took the seat beside him. He still appeared preoccupied with his pants.

Edward clapped him on the shoulder. "Let it go, Em. It was a joke. He was just messing with you."

"You kind of deserved it," Rosalie made sure to point out. "You shouldn't have made fun of his sweater."

"Me?" Emmett exclaimed indignantly. "He's the one who was wearing it."

Esme tried to console him. "I think it means he likes you."

"Likes me?" Emmett almost laughed. "Yeah, about that . . ."

"Emmett, he's not gay," Edward said dully. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Aw, come on," Emmett said. "You can't deny the guy's a bit of a flit. A first-class fairy if you ask me."

"What makes you say that?" Esme asked.

Jasper leaned back in his seat. "I'm sure he has his own private jet."

Emmett chuckled. "Nice. I like that."

Edward shook his head. "He's not gay."

"How would you know? You can't read his thoughts. He could be."

"He has a girlfriend."

"Oh yeah?" Emmett didn't believe it.

Esme nodded. "For a while now, it sounded like."

Emmett shook his head back and forth. "Just because he has a girlfriend doesn't mean he isn't gay."

"Emmett," Rosalie broke in, "stop being an idiot. Why would he date a girl if he doesn't like them?"

"I never said he didn't like them. All I'm saying is that he likes men more. The fact that he has a 'girlfriend'" —he put air quotes around the word— "doesn't mean he isn't gay."

"Yes it does. Gay men date other gay men. That's why they're gay."

"You obviously don't understand the meaning of the word cover."

"Why are we having this conversation?" Rosalie exclaimed, exasperated.

"Hey, I was just making an observation. Think about it. The guy shows up out of nowhere, attacks Carlisle at his work with some baloney story that he's turning back into a human all because—at least this is my theory—he's in love with Carlisle." The proclamation was met with skeptical silence. "And he can sew," Emmett added as an afterthought. "And he has purple sneakers."

Esme was next to speak. "You should hear the way he talks about Rachel."

"I'm telling you, it's all just a cover."

"And maybe," Alice said suddenly, wide-eyed and serious, "instead of dirty magazines, Carlisle found a note where Malakai professed his undying devotion and affection for him." Her tone became more and more sarcastic as she went on.

"Exactly," Emmett said, pleased someone agreed.

"Your theory is ridiculous," Alice told him. "And wrong."

"Then why do you think Carlisle called him away all of a sudden?"

"I don't know. Carlisle obviously doesn't want us to know about it. Maybe we need to trust his judgment and let it go."

Emmett crossed his massive arms. "I disagree. I think a little espionage is in order."

Everyone looked immediately at Esme who immediately shook her head. "Oh no. I'm not going to play double agent for anyone. If you're so keen to know, you should ask him yourself."

~*~  
Finally unable to take Carlisle's piercing gaze any longer, Malakai caved. He spoke swiftly, quietly, making it up as he went along until Carlisle seemed satisfied.

"Is there anything else you're not telling me?" the doctor asked for what felt like the thousandth time.

Malakai felt his lie acutely. "Probably."

"Is there anything else you should be telling me?"

Malakai pulled the folded paper from his back pocket, unfolded it, read it again, folded it back carefully, and very meticulously began ripping it to pieces. "Yes, in a moment. Have you got a light? A match, perhaps?"

"You're going to burn it?"

"Actually, I feel like a smoke. Yes, of course I'm going to burn it! I can't have it just lying about, can I? Do you have one or not?"

"No."

"Then I'll be right back."

"We're not finished."

"You'll still be here when I come back, won't you?" he said as he walked down the stairs. "I'll be only a moment." He crossed paths with Esme in the office. "Your husband is crazy," he told her as he went past, his fist clenched tightly around a handful of shredded paper. He walked off without another word.

Esme, who had finally been worn down by Emmett's persistent nagging, peered curiously after him. Her delicate brow knitted together as she wondered why on Earth he should say something like that. She turned toward the stairs. "Carlisle?" she called, concerned when she received no answer. "Carlisle," she called again as she eased open the lab door.

Carlisle was sitting in his chair, his elbows propped up against the keyboard while his hands worked the headache out of his temple.

Esme looked sympathetic as she crept to his side. "You look tired," she said gently. She rested her nimble hands for a moment on his shoulders.

Carlisle couldn't do anything but sigh.

Esme understood. She wound her arms soothingly around him and rested her head on his shoulder. They stayed still like that for some time. "How are things going?"

Carlisle shook his head once. "I don't think I can do this," the doctor confided quietly.

"It's only been one day," his wife reminded him.

"I know."

Esme hugged him more tightly and kissed his cheek. "Was something wrong? You two disappeared so quickly."

"It turned out to be nothing."

"That's good."

Carlisle nodded halfheartedly. "I still don't know how I'm going to help him. I have this nagging feeling he's avoiding telling me the whole truth."


	19. Caribou

**Caribou**

In the family room, the gathering was slowly falling away. Rosalie and Emmett had gone down to the lake to catch the last rays of the sunset—and that, of course, meant Rosalie had all but pushed Emmett out the door. Jasper, however, had finally come around. Shortly after Rosalie and Emmett vacated the area, Jasper found his way back to Alice's side and apologized for his coldness. Edward couldn't quite take it. Once again he found himself the odd man out of the marital bliss. He stood up from his chair rather suddenly.

"I'm going to get a book from my room," he explained when the two on the couch looked up questioningly.

"I'll get it," Alice offered and before Edward could say no she had already breezed out of the room.

Jasper looked at Edward and Edward looked at Jasper; Jasper could tell from the sudden burst of concentration that Alice had had a vision. Edward could tell from the flash of images that crossed her mind that it hadn't been good.

"Hey, Malakai," Alice called when she saw him sitting at the top of the stairs. He was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. "What are you doing sitting here? Not sleeping, are you?" She stopped in front of him and waved a hand in front of his face. "_Helloo_."

"Please, Alice," Malakai murmured, his eyes shut tight. "Your voice hurts my head."

"Do you have another headache?" the clairvoyant asked, suddenly all business.

"I don't know." He set his head between his hands and blinked a few times at the wooden step between his feet. "It feels sort of like . . . I've been hit with a rock. A very solid, very heavy rock." He closed his eyes again.

"I'll get Carlisle." She whirled past him and hurried through the office. She ran into the lab less than a second later. "Carlisle, there's something wrong with Malakai."

Esme unwound herself from the doctor and he stood up reverently. "What is it?"

"I'm not really sure. He's complaining his head hurts again."

Carlisle went out ahead of them, his annoyance overshadowed by his concern. He found Malakai lying on the floor in the middle of the hall, his limbs sprawled out around him.

"Malakai."

Malakai winced. "Ah, Carlisle." He cracked an eye open. "Come to rescue me?"

Carlisle knelt down beside his old friend. "How bad is the pain?" He spoke as quietly as he could.

"I think I might prefer not being attached to my head at the moment."

The doctor was quiet for a moment. "Alice, go down to the kitchen and get some ice. Esme, let's get him into his room. Would you draw the shades?" Both women moved without a sound. "Malakai, can you stand?"

Malakai covered his face with his hands. "The better question to ask is do I want to, and the answer to that, of course, is no. I have no desire to move." He peaked between his fingers. "Go away."

"You have a migraine, Kai. I'm not going away."

"A what?"

"It's a kind of super headache—"

"Oh, fantastic," the blue-eyed vampire mumbled to himself. "A bloody fucking super headache. It just keeps getting better, doesn't it?"

"—that can be triggered by stress."

"'So it's your fault," he mumbled as Carlisle helped him sit up. "Can you fix it?"

"First I need you out of the hallway." Somehow, though Carlisle wasn't sure how it happened, he managed to get Malakai on his feet and into the darkened room just as Alice appeared with the ice. "Thank you, Alice."

Alice nodded and exited silently. Esme hovered close by for a moment before she too made herself scarce.

"That's cold," Malakai said when Carlisle pressed the icepack to his forehead.

"Keep this here. It should help."

Malakai did as he was told and for a long time the room was quiet. "Holy shit," he exclaimed in quiet agony as a new kind of pain assaulted his brain. "Holy fucking shit, Carlisle, kill me. Please."

The doctor watched silently as his patient suffered.

"Can't you, you know, do something? Jesus Christ, I don't think I can take , tell me you can do something. Can't you give me anything? Vicodin or Codeine. Hell, even Tylenol. _Anything_."

Carlisle watched helplessly as his friend writhed in pain. There was nothing he could do. He could only give his human patients pills for the pain, and with Malakai he couldn't even do that. There was no way of knowing how Malakai's system would react to medication and he wasn't about to risk experimenting even if Malakai was. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Morphine?" Malakai pleaded weakly.

"I can't. They haven't invented pain medication for vampires yet. It will pass on its own."

"You can't do anything?"

"I'm sorry."

"Get out. Just—If there's nothing you can do, I'd prefer to be alone."

Carlisle went without protest.

"Wait," Malakai called him back. He had had a thought. "Find Emmett. I want to talk to Emmett."

Carlisle left the room with a sigh.

A few moments later Emmett stepped into the room with trepidation. "Yeah?"

"Emmett," Malakai said in his most miserable voice. "I want to apologized for earlier. Before I die, I want you to know—"

Emmett turned sharply to Carlisle. "He's dying?"

Carlisle shook his head.

"—I want you to know that I think there's nothing wrong with your trousers. I think they're perfectly lovely trousers . . . if you happen to be a member of the Crypts."

Emmett wasn't amused in the least.

Malakai laughed though the action was painful. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Wait. Wait . . . don't go. I need a favor."

"What is it?"

"I'm in pain. I would really appreciate it if you could use your street cred and score me some acid."

"You've got to be joking." Emmett turned on his heel and walked out.

Carlisle's mouth pulled down into a disapproving frown. "Why do you do that?"

Malakai chuckled faintly, his pack of ice still firmly clapped over his throbbing head. "It's funny."

"I'm not laughing."

"Yes, well, that's because your sense of humor died with King James II. Oh, piss off, Carlisle. Please."

-  
It was late Friday night before Malakai felt the splitting pain abruptly cease. He opened his eyes in surprise and lay amongst his sheets and pillows a long time afterward to make sure his head wasn't just playing tricks on him. He eventually made it downstairs, still pain-free wearing a fresh change of clothes. The house was strangely quiet. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked around the empty foyer. He turned right and strode into the vacant family room. "How odd," he said to himself when he peered into the lifeless kitchen. Where was everybody? It was then he saw the backdoor was ajar. He strode up to it casually and poked his head outside. He found Edward, alone with his back to the house. He looked horribly sad sitting all alone under the stars, staring out at the lake as he was.

Malakai wasn't sure what to do. He had a rare opportunity to be sentimental and compassionate. He was, after all, staring at a very plainly depressed little boy who seemed in desperate need of hard liquor and a cat house. Didn't one ordinarily offer assistance in such situations? He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't hear Carlisle sneak up behind him.

"Feeling better?"

Malakai whirled around too fast and caught the door frame on the corner of his head. "Just . . . fine," he said, rubbing his scalp. "What happened to everyone?"

"They're hunting caribou in Canada."

"And you're not? Don't tell me you've been waiting up for me. I'll feel even worse if I've somehow kept you from your caribou. What? Stop it with that face already! Why do you always look at me like that?"

Edward had noticed by then that he was no longer alone. He stood up, ceremoniously brushed the non-existent dust from his jeans and slipped silently through the door and up the stairs without a word.

Malakai looked after him, feeling more and more miserable the longer he did. The poor boy really did act just as Cecil had . . . Carlisle, who had glanced up very briefly as Edward walked by then respectfully turned his eyes elsewhere, noticed Malakai noticing Edward and didn't like it.

"Do you still have something to tell me?" Carlisle asked. He hadn't forgotten the condemning letter or Malakai's words.

Malakai looked momentarily confused. "Oh yes," he said and a quick smile flashed over his face. He put a hand on Carlisle's shoulder. "Thank you."


	20. Tumbler

**Tumbler**  
_Malakai_

I know it wasn't what Carlisle had in mind. No doubt he had been hoping for something closer to—I shudder to think—the truth. I swear, he has some sort of disorder. It's as if he can't function without it; like honesty is as vital to his existence as his right hand. Honestly, I have no idea what sort of good it does him. The truth is almost always messier, uglier, and a hundred times harder to believe than a casual white lie. That's not the point. The point is that "thank you" was more important than any truth I could tell him. I had been wanting to say it since the moment he agreed to help me, and now seemed like the most inappropriate time to say it so naturally it was the first thing out of my mouth. And, naturally, the first thing Carlisle did after I said it was get his knickers in a twist.

"What do you mean thank you?" he said, looking confused and suspicious. "Thank you for what?" And then he kept going on with more questions like that, and "stop joking around," and "be serious for once," and on and on until I stopped listening altogether.

I know I rub Carlisle the wrong way sometimes, (I should. I do it on purpose.), but whatever happened to a simple you're welcome? This endless pestering of his was making me sorry I said anything. Maybe I should have apologized instead. Or better yet just swallowed my pride and told the truth. Maybe then he wouldn't be looking at me with such contempt. I held back a sigh. Truth be told, there was something I had meant to tell him, but I couldn't find the right words, and anyway all this talk was making me thirsty. It could wait for another time. I meant to leave him ranting at the back door, but when I wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator he was right beside me, preaching at me like only a preacher's son could. When I grabbed a bag of blood out of the little bio-hazard cooler and emptied half of it into the champagne glass I had stashed in the freezer for just such an occasion, (I was in the mood for something cold), he was still going on about God knows what. I drained the glass in one go.

Before I had fully realized I had filled it, it was empty again. I hadn't even tasted it. I hadn't even closed the fridge. Appalled by my own behavior, I filled the glass again, making careful note not to listen to a word Carlisle said and tried not to guzzle it down this time. It was deliciously cold with just a hint of . . . was that raspberries? I managed to close the refrigerator and turn halfway round before I finished off the second glass. I stared into the empty glass—perhaps I was thirstier than I imagined—and happened to glance up at Carlisle. His lips had stopped moving. He was looking quite serious.

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "I didn't catch that last bit."

His face fell in the smallest degree. "You weren't listening at all, were you?"

"That's not true," I said hastily as I pulled out a second pint. It wasn't either. I had listened the first twenty seconds and that had turned out to be a mistake. "You wouldn't happen to have anything bigger than a champagne glass, would you?" I said to shift his focus from me.

Carlisle went silently to the cupboard and produced a large tumbler.

I took it from him with a smile. "You know, it would have been funnier if you had given me a bowl."

"Would you like a spoon, too?"

I laughed a little. "And who says you don't have a sense of humor." I tore the bag open with my teeth and emptied it neatly into the new glass. "Much better, thank you," I said and took a drink. "Mm. Carlisle, smell this. Does it smell like pineapple to you?" I held it up to his nose.

"Yes," he said.

"Where did you say you got these? Hawaii?" I tasted it again, quite enjoying myself. "I can't say I've never had anyone taste like pineapple before. Would you like some?"

He looked like I had just insulted his mother.

"Sorry," I said hastily. "It was a reflex. I do the same thing to Luke and he's not even a vampire. Sorry," I said again. I knew what was coming. He had that look about him. I had heard his "humans are friends" sermon more times than I cared to count and the thought of hearing it again made me scramble to change the subject. (You would think I would know by now how touchy he is about humans and their blood.) "Anyway, what was it you were saying before?"

Lucky for me he took the bait. "I was saying I have to run more tests—We have to run more tests. I want to make sure this migraine caused no permanent damage."

"I'm to get my head examined?" I almost laughed. Was this what they called irony?

"That's the idea."

"Not hiding anymore incriminating documents in your pockets?"

"No."

"All right. In a little while. I'm thirsty." As if to prove it to him, I took out the whole cooler instead of bothering with another single pint and set it on the counter in front of me. I sat down behind it. I popped it open and tore into another bag, feeling strangely alive, a feeling that both scared and delighted me.

Edward came downstairs while I was busy gulping down Carlisle's meager blood supply. He had his keys in his hand. I could tell there had been some silent communication beforehand because Edward simply said: "I'll send her home when I get there," and Carlisle looked grateful rather than confused like I did.

"What was that about?" I asked when Edward's motorcycle had grumbled off into the night.

"I told Edward to ask Esme to come home early."

"How cute," I cooed as I poured myself another drink. "You miss your wife. But why don't you just call? Wouldn't it be easier?"

"Edward . . . doesn't have much of an appetite these days," Carlisle said, as if that one sentence explained it all perfectly.

"And fetching Esme for you fixes this?" That seemed rather odd.

Carlisle shook his head. "It's been three months since he last hunted," he explained. "I keep trying to tell him he's not doing himself any favors, but I think he feels he has to punish himself for what happened to Bella. This way I feel better knowing he's out there."

I had come to my last pint. I watched it gurgle around in its plastic case, trying to decide if I really wanted it. "Quite the dramatic child, isn't he?"

"He's not a child, Malakai."

"I didn't mean it like that." I decided I did and downed the last of it in no time at all. "All right," I said. I set my glass down with a clatter, faintly buzzing with new blood. I had never had that much to drink in one sitting. I hadn't had that much blood in the last month. A pint or two here and there, but never eight and never in so little time. That was like devouring a fully grown man in under half an hour. The idea made me sick. I shook it off quickly and pushed back my chair. "Let's get this over with."

Carlisle, bless his soul, never missed a beat. He stepped toward me, concern in his eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," I assured. "Just fine." This was, perhaps, half true. It was true I felt better than I had in a long time; I felt like my old self, almost normal. Normal like before any of this had happened, before Luke and I returned to London, before I had left without saying goodbye. But even though outwardly I felt like the very picture of health, inwardly I felt very unstable. My emotional state, to say the least, was in shambles. In other words, I was a mess. I was doing my utmost to conceal my fragile frame of mind from Carlisle and his dear family, but, quite frankly, I didn't know how much longer I could keep it up. And Edward . . . There was something about the way he looked, the way he said certain things that reminded me so painfully of Cecil that I wanted to cry. I wasn't rightly sure why I wasn't. I certainly wanted to, if not for me in my current state of things then for Edward in his. I had this horrible feeling that he was headed down the same dangerous road that had killed Cecil.


	21. Crazy Old Man

**Crazy Old Man**  
_Malakai_

"What sort of permanent damage?" We were in the attic again (surprise, surprise) and I was having second thoughts about letting Carlisle poke around in my head. I had the paranoid fear that he would be able to tell what I was thinking by looking at my brain.

"I don't know. Vampires don't usually suffer from migraine headaches."

I walked up to the Magnetic Resonance Imaging machine timidly, as if it were some ferocious lion, ready to rip my arms off the moment I made a false move. "So we are in uncharted territories, is that it?"

"You could say that, yes." Carlisle was too busy ransacking his cabinets to pay me much attention.

"Or in other words, you haven't got a clue." I don't know why I was saying these things. I didn't want to say them. They weren't nice things to say.

He turned and looked at me. "That's why you're here isn't it? So we can figure this out?"

"Yes," I admitted, painfully aware that he might hate me.

"It could be that nothing is wrong," he went on, turning back to his medical pantry. "You did say you felt better?"

"I think so."

"You think so?" He shut the cabinet, hiding whatever he had been looking for in his closed fist.

"Yes, I think so." I let out a sigh and waved him over. It was inevitable; I might as well get it over with now so he couldn't bitch about it later. "Come here. I'll show you."

"Show me?" He looked a little hesitant. I have no idea why. It wasn't like I was going to bite him.

Again.

I reached for his face with my hands. "Do I feel any different to you?"

"I believe your hands aren't as soft as they were before," he agreed and casually removed my hands.

"You feel different, too," I said sighing. I have never understood why Carlisle is so skittish of physical contact.

"Different how?"

"Just . . . I don't know. Different. You feel like you should, how a vampire is supposed to feel, I suppose. I first noticed a difference in my tactile sensation when I was lying upstairs. I think my head had just stopped pounding, and, anyway, I was lying there and my fingers. . . Everything feels like it should again."

"You're just now telling me this?"

He said it as if it were my fault. "You wouldn't shut up," I said defensively. "I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I have half a mind not to tell you at all if you're going to interrupt me again." This wasn't true, but it certainly worked to shut him up. "Right then. Well. I thought you would like to know that not only is my tactile sensation changed, but my vision seems restored as well."

"Your eyes are still blue," Carlisle reminded me. As if I needed reminding.

"Thank you. I hadn't thought to look in a mirror."

Carlisle chose to dismiss my sarcasm. "How is your vision now compared to before?"

I surveyed my fingernails carelessly. "It's a rather small change. Everything just looks sharper, like it's in HD, or whatever they call it. It's the same for all my senses, really. I haven't had blood taste so alive in months. I thought I was in heaven."

Carlisle said something reassuring and turned his back on me again. I didn't feel reassured. I already assumed I was "on the mend"—and I was grateful for it, don't get me wrong—but it didn't feel quite right. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Or maybe, if I was being honest, (that seemed rather unlikely), it had nothing to do with my recovery and everything to do with Carlisle and his ridiculously perfect family. Maybe I was secretly jealous. Maybe I really was in love with Carlisle as Emmett hypnotized. Or better yet, maybe I was just being paranoid. It seemed much more likely.

"Carlisle," I said, hardly able to hear myself.

Carlisle must have sensed a change in my tone because I certainly sensed a change in his. "Yes, Malakai?"

"Do you think he likes me?"

"Who? Edward?"

"No. Jasper." I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Edward, you crazy old man."

"I haven't the slightest idea." He stood up, walked around the desk, and joined me next to the hulking machine. "Open, please."

"Open what?"

"Your mouth."

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"I need to take your temperature." He held up the thermometer he had been hiding.

I can't say I didn't feel relieved. "Again?"

"I want to see if there has been any change."

"Why—?"

"Please stop arguing with me."

"Sorry." I let him take my temperature.

"Seventy-two," he announced after what had to be the longest three minutes of my life.

"Is that good?"

"It's down twelve degrees from three days ago but still not where I would like it to be."

"I'll try harder next time."

Carlisle didn't appreciate my joke. As usual, he sidestepped it and went on with "the plan". "There are just a couple of things before we get started," he said in his "I have a medical degree so that automatically makes me smarter than you" voice. "It's going to be a little loud—"

"I'm already aware of that." Doctors say the most obvious things sometimes.

"—and the less you move, the quicker we'll be able to finish."

I dug my hands into my pockets and peered into the narrow opening, pretending to be difficult. "I make no promises."

"Do you have any questions before we begin?"

"No. I don't think so," I said. I was curious to know why he kept saying "we" as if I were part of the decision making. He really wasn't fooling anyone.

He told me to lie down on the little . . . MRI-bed-thing or whatever it's called, and I did, but I felt very vulnerable doing it. I sat up again in a hurry. "Hold on. Wait a minute. What do you mean you haven't the slightest idea whether Edward likes me or not?"

Carlisle looked annoyed for a moment, like he didn't understand why we were talking about this again. "I mean I don't know. If I had to guess, I would say he is indifferent to you. Lie down."

I didn't lie down. "You mean to tell me that in the forty-odd hours I was incapacitated my name didn't come up at all?"

"Believe it or not, there are other things to talk about besides Malakai Ross."

"Yes, but nothing nearly as interesting," I insisted. I thought that might get him to tell me, but he only rolled his eyes. "Really? Not once?"

Carlisle looked at me reproachfully. "Malakai, please. I would like to get this done sometime before noon. Then maybe we can play 20 Questions. Is that reasonable enough for you?"

Reasonable, he said. As if reason had anything to do with it. There were several things I wanted to say to him about what was reasonable, but, to save us both another argument, I did the "reasonable" thing and obliged him.

The next few hours were dull as hell. The MRI went off without a hitch. Carlisle got his pictures and subsequently spent the early hours of Saturday morning fawning over them. He kept saying things like "remarkable" and "how peculiar." I took a look at the grainy gray pictures of what was supposedly my brain but couldn't see what was so spectacular about it; it looked like a brain to me. When Carlisle noticed I wasn't looking as enthusiastic as he was, he started to explain how it was remarkable that we, (why did he insist on using that awful word?), were able to see inside my skull at all, that vampire skin was too dense to penetrate with an X-ray—or in this case an MRI.

I left when I could.

I thought it might do well to check my inbox on my Blackberry while I had the opportunity, (four days was more than enough time for it to fill up). Within a minute I had reunited my mobile office with its battery and saw I had my work cut out for me; there were one hundred sixty-nine missed calls, (I didn't bother with those), ninety-two unread text messages, (I skimmed these. Over half of them were from Grigoriy in Moscow and it sounded like he was getting desperate. Damn kid really should be careful who he makes promises with.), and sixty-four new voicemail messages. I started here.

Carson's voice was the first to crackle over the line. "Goddamn, Kai! I've called you a dozen times already. Turn on your goddamn phone! It's important I speak with you as soon as possible."

I looked at my watch. It was nearly four. What time was it in Spain? I gave him a buzz.

He answered on the fourth ring. "Bloody hell, Kai,"—it sounded as though I had woken him up—"why didn't you call me sooner?"

"You said to call as soon as possible and I have."

"I left you that message yesterday." He didn't sound pleased. I heard him turn away from the phone and drop his voice. "No, it's just my boss." I distinctly heard another voice in the background. "Yeah. I'll be finished in a minute."

"Is someone there with you?" I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't his wife. I wasn't "just his boss" around Haley.

"Yes, Kai. As usual you call me at the most inopportune time."

"Well, my apologies for ruining your chances of getting laid today."

"Wait, Kai. Don't—"

I hung up on him and returned to my inbox, hoping the next message would be nicer to me. It wasn't. Instead I found myself being cursed at in angry Vietnamese. I deleted that one. I managed to get through half my messages—nine of them alone were from Alex the lawyer—before I felt I couldn't take any more of this abuse. Rather than throwing in the towel then and there, I foolishly talked myself into just one more. It was from an anonymous number I didn't recognize.

"Hey, Kai . . ." a very familiar voice greeted drolly.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed, nearly dropping the phone in horror.

". . . it's Felix."—How the hell did he get this number?—"Sorry not to call earlier. I know you've just been dying to hear from me." He chuckled. "Do you know what I had to go through to get this number? Anyway, the reason I called—actually there are several." There was a pause. I could tell he was deciding how much he could get away with saying. "Firstly, I got your letter the other day, and . . . I feel the same way. Secondly, your so-called friend in London is an ass. Be sure to tell him I said so. Thirdly, (this is really why I'm calling, by the way), Aro sends his love, if that means anything to you, and he would like you to call him on this number. He's ordering you, in fact. There are a few other things, but nothing I can risk saying over the phone. Oh, and thanks for the, uh, interesting experience last time. Just give me a call if you ever want to try it again."

I was frozen. This was not good. Felix should not be calling me. Especially not on the number I kept exclusively for business associates, (and Felix was the furthest thing from a business associate), and especially not when I was in Carlisle's house! I hesitated. Experience had taught me it was best to get these things over with as soon as possible, but was it worth the possibility that Carlisle might overhear? What would he do to me if he did? I imagined the possibilities a second longer and hit redial.

Felix answered after just one ring. "Hey! It's Kai!" he boomed for all the world to hear. "I was wondering when you were going to get back to me."

"Felix!" I hissed angrily. "Have you gone mental! How the hell did you get my work number?"

He chuckled, the same obnoxious laugh he had left in his voicemail. "Let's see. No, to the first question, and since when do you call what you do work?"

"I'm not joking, Felix. How did you get this number?"

"Luke gave it to me. That is his name, right? Luke the—"

"Luke?" I said incredulously, hardly believing my ears. It wasn't like him to sell me out. "Why the hell would he do that?"

"I made him an offer he couldn't refuse—Oh, Kai, you'll never guess who wants to say hello."

"No. Don't you dare put him on. I'll hang up."

"Now, we both know you wouldn't do a thing like that."

"Try me, Felix, I dare you. Listen, do me a favor and tell your damn boss I have no desire to talk to him tonight. Or any night, for that matter."

"Kai, come on."

"Don't call me again." No sooner had I hung up than my phone started to ring again. I stared at it in horror. I had this horrible feeling it wouldn't be Felix waiting on the other end this time. I felt like I was going to be sick.

As if my luck couldn't get any worse, Carlisle chose now to appear outside my door. "I have good news," he announced.

"Good God, Carlisle!" I all but threw my phone across the room. "Don't do that to me!"

Carlisle paused just inside the room.

My cell screamed at us from somewhere under the bed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to get that?"


	22. 20 Questions

**20 Questions**

"Call him again." The order echoed icily in the high-vaulted chamber.

It was quite impressive one, that room, even for vampire standards. In only three months, the Relocating Committee had found a suitable second home for the Volturi and their "new recruit". Surrounded by the frigid Lake Baikal in eastern Siberia, the island Olkhon was just the middle of nowhere that Caius had requested. Then, on Caius's orders, the Volturi had gone underground, digging a luxurious labyrinth of halls and antechambers beneath the permafrost. All Aro had to do was not disagree. And he didn't. As far as Aro was concerned, this was all just a silly phase of Caius's. It would soon pass. In the mean time he was content to let things happen as they would. Besides, he had been thinking himself that it was time for a change of scenery. Volterra was old hat. Olkhon, in its isolation, offered . . . well, Caius hadn't come up with an answer for that one yet.

"He's not picking up, Master," Felix replied apologetically. "It just keeps ringing."

Aro clucked his tongue. He was standing in the middle of the room in a silk dressing gown. Beneath his feet rested perhaps the largest polar bear that had ever lived. Aro fancied the rug, and often admired it aloud to Marcus or Caius whenever one or the other could be found. Today, however, he couldn't be bothered. Today, he was more interested in what was going on his feet than what was under them.

Looking like an under-aged king, he stood with his hands on his hips and a frown on his face, while his human Pavel pulled suit after suit out of the wardrobe. Aro shook his head to each. "That won't do. Where is Marcus?"

"He and Chelsea are working with Bella. With respect sire, I doubt Marcus will have better luck trying to persuade him than we have."

Aro frowned. "No, you are undoubtedly right. That is enough for today. We will try again tomorrow."

"Master," Jane spoke up. She had been waiting in the doorway for some time and was tired of being ignored.

"Ah, yes Jane, my dear child. What news is there?"

"Progress remains slow," she said without feeling. "Marcus believes it is a waste of effort to keep her."

Aro tsked lightly. "Marcus believes most things are a waste of effort." He was about to dismiss her when he thought of another use for her. "Oh, Jane, you remember Malakai, don't you?"

"Fondly, Master," Jane said with a wicked grin.

Aro sat on his luxurious sofa in the center of the room, looking more like a boy king in that fox fur coat than ever. "I had hoped he would help us solve our problem, but he refuses our calls. My patience is thin and I fear Marcus may soon be right if we do not do something quickly."

Already Jane disliked where this was going, but she played along, knowing it was expected of her. "Do we know his location?"

Aro shook his head sadly. "I am afraid not. He is wonderfully hard to track down even when he is cooperating with us. And he most certainly is not cooperating."

"What of his loyal companion in London?" she said with a bit of a sneer.

"Dear Lucas seems to know little more about his whereabouts than we do. He only knew Malakai was on holiday but had not said where he was going or when he would return." The ancient's onionskin face creased in the most disconcerting way. He was not at all pleased. It had not gone at all as Caius had said.

"I don't understand how anyone could be friends with a―"

Aro's laugh cut her off. "Jane, dear, you are starting to sound more and more like Caius every day. It is not our place to judge Malakai's choice of friends, however odd a pair they may make." He smiled fondly. "You would think differently if you knew their history like I do."

Jane ducked her head in a hasty bow. "Forgive me, Master." She did not take well to Aro's "favorite". She never had, in fact, and Aro knew it. If anyone else in their jurisdiction―which was every vampire on the planet―flaunted their secrets to the world like Malakai did, like a scalper selling trinkets at a busy New York corner, they would be executed faster than she could snap his fingers. But not Malakai. Oh, no. Aro had deemed him much too special for that. "Surely," she ventured. And then more strongly, "Surely this Lucas of his knows more than he is letting on?"

Aro's mouth turned thoughtful. "A possibility I considered myself." An idea was beginning to form behind his troubled brow. "Felix," he said languidly.

"Yes, Master?"

"I wonder, since Lucas was so willing to lend us Kai's number, if we might persuade him to do us one more little favor."

~*~  
_Malakai_

I have no idea how I managed to talk myself out of that room. Felix kept calling. They kept calling. And calling and calling and calling. My phone rang for over three hours. I was absolutely terrified.

"Are you sure you don't have to get that?"

I had pulled Carlisle downstairs into the living room hoping to get away from that insipid ringing. It hadn't helped in the slightest.

"Quite sure," I said and flung myself onto his couch. I fished out my other phone from my jean pocket without thinking.

"You have two cell phones?"

I turned it on. "Yes." I watched him sit down on the adjacent chair with a curious look on his face.

"Why?"

I looked the device over thoroughly. It seemed I had no new messages. Disappointed, I stuffed it back into my pocket. "Why do I have two cell phones? Well, I do a lot of business with a lot of different people under a lot of different aliases and if you add that to my convoluted personal life, everything just gets so terribly confusing―. What! Why does everyone get that look on their face when I explain this? Is it really so strange?"

Carlisle's expression cleared. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I had a look on my face." He turned his eyes to the ceiling. "Why won't you answer the one upstairs?"

I sighed deeply, making a conscious effort to appear uninterested. "It's only Alex, my lawyer. But he's a big boy. I've no doubt he can take care of himself."

"What are you doing with a lawyer?" Once again Carlisle's capacity to trust almost made me regret lying to him again. Almost.

I pulled out my phone again, thinking something had changed in the twenty seconds since I had checked it last. Nothing had. I put it back, feeling more depressed than before. "I'm being sued," I said carelessly. "And when I say I, I mean this company I started forty years ago and then sold soon after, but somehow this idiot lawyer think I actually give a damn about what meager assets I still have invested in it."

"Being sued for what?"

I fiddled with my phone, flirting with the idea of having a good long chat with Lucas and why selling out your friends is generally frowned upon. "Oh, some idiot fell and got himself hurt. And then upon further investigation―" I stopped myself and, twisting my head, looked at him. "It's really just a bunch of legal bullshit. Why do you ask?"

Carlisle shrugged as casually as he knew how. "It's just I've known you for so long and I never did figure out what you do for a living."

I laughed. "No one knows. Hell, some days I don't even know."

"But you own a company?" he went on, in no hurry to lose the subject now that he had found it.

"Several. That's really besides the point though, isn't it?" My hand automatically slipped back into my pocket before I could stop it. It was only with great effort that I was able to remove it empty-handed.

Carlisle, who had been watching this go on for some time finally spoke up. "Expecting a call?"

My laugh was artificial. "My, you're nosy this morning! I didn't know we had started playing 20 Questions already."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I thought you might like a chance to talk about something other than your condition for a change."

"That's very considerate of you," I said, not knowing what else to say. I had no strong desire to discuss my professional life with him. Not only did it violate every one of my unwritten rules, but it was Carlisle. No, telling him was a bad idea. "Speaking of my condition," ―I was seriously considering giving Luke a ring― "what about this good news of yours that was so important you just had to interrupt my work to tell me?" I set my phone on the floor next to the couch. Maybe then, I thought, I would be less tempted to flip it open every five seconds. "I could use some good news. It's been months since I've had any. Wait. Don't tell me. I think I can guess. But first, why don't you sit by me?" I sat up to make room on the couch. It took some effort, but slowly and surely, Carlisle found his way back to my side. "Now, what is this good news?"

"I thought you were going to guess."

I cast him a sideways glance. A thought crossed my mind and I smiled. "Jasper has finally confessed his undying love for me and he wants to buy a condo together in Florida."

I saw Carlisle crack a smile. "No." He sounded amused.

"Damn."

"It's better than that."

I laughed. "Nothing could be better than that."

"Maybe not," Carlisle said, "but regardless, your head is fine."

"Well," I said with mild surprise, disappointed he had ended our game so quickly. "I take that back. This is better news."

"I thought you might say that."

"But?" I could see he still had more to tell.

"But," Carlisle said with a sigh, "the interesting thing" ―and by interesting I knew he meant trivial and therefore of little interest to anyone but himself― "was that I was able to see your brain at all."

I blinked at him. "I hope that wasn't your attempt at insulting me."

"What? No. I didn't mean it like that." I could see he was backpedaling already. "Perhaps I should have worded it differently. What I meant to say was that I was surprised the MRI was able to get a decent image. Ordinarily, any kind of imaging machine, whether it's an X-ray or an MRI, can't get a good picture because the venom interferes with our cell tissue."

"Carlisle," I interrupted, "you tried to tell me this once before. I nearly died from boredom." And there I went opening my mouth again. . .

Carlisle looked displeased. "I am beginning to get the impression that you don't actually want my help. If that's the case. . ."

"Carlisle, hold on now," I said, reaching for him before he could become angry and leave. "I'm sorry I said that. I didn't―I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I just . . . I'm sorry."

Carlisle watched me coolly but relaxed after a moment and sat back into the couch.

"Don't listen to me when I'm wound up," I said good-naturedly, trying to make a joke of it. "I say stupid things. Hell, I say stupid things when I'm not. Carlisle, truly," I said, seeing he had not quite made up his mind to forgive me, "I'm sorry. I do care." I scooped my phone off the floor without a second thought. I don't know why. Maybe I thought Luke would sense my anger and dial before I did. Then again, Luke was an idiot. I stared at in anyway, hoping my gaze would break its silence.

"Is it Rachel?"

I was so absorbed in my thoughts that Carlisle's sudden unwarranted interest made me jump. "What?" I said, though I had heard him.

"If you miss her why don't you give her a call?"

Carlisle's innocent query struck a chord in my heart. It came so suddenly I couldn't think. A slash of guilt shot up my spine. I opened my mouth to reply, lifted my surprised eyes from the lifeless machine in my hand, but nothing would come out. I sat slack-jawed for four seconds more before the words hit me like a Boeing B-52. "I . . . don't." My phone clattered to the floor, forgotten as my hands rushed to cover my mouth.

Carlisle quirked an eyebrow. "Are you―Malakai, you're trembling." Carlisle's voice took on a new note of concern. His eyes widened in alarm. "What's that matter?"

I didn't rightly know what the matter was. Or at least I didn't want to know. I took a shaky breath. "I don't miss her," I confessed, not believing my own words. I was horrified. How could that be? Rachel was eight years of my life. I should feel something when we haven't seen each other in five months, but . . . there was absolutely nothing. Absolutely nothing. But if I had no feelings for her, why did I feel so sick to my stomach? It was a stupid question. I knew the answer.

Understanding crept slowing into Carlisle's face. Did he see something I didn't? Why had I said that anyway? Because it's the truth, my subconscious told me. God, why did I have to pick now to be honest? Why did it have to be Carlisle?

"Malakai. . ."

I couldn't hear what Carlisle was saying. It was as if the world around me had ceased to exist. I'm sure Carlisle thought I had gone mental. I even thought I had gone mental. But my admission, the thing that I convinced myself hadn't happened, the lie I had believed for over three years, the lie I had been telling everyone, was gone. I was shaking. And the scary thing was I couldn't stop. My chest tightened and I felt I couldn't breathe―I knew I didn't need to, but feeling as though I was unable to frightened me.

Most of the afternoon passed in a sickening blur. Carlisle told me much later in the evening after I had stopped crying that I had suffered what he called a "severe panic attack".

He told me that he had pulled me outside, hoping some fresh air and sunlight might help me become less hysterical, but at least at first, he said, it didn't. I paced around the deck for three entire minutes before I simply froze. I neither breathed nor blinked but stood staring out at the trees. Then I gave one shuddering gasp before tumbling down the steps and walking like a man possessed―his words not mine―along the sloping back yard then stumbled drunkenly into the wood, crunching over ugly brown maple leaves and snapping dead sticks. Carlisle said he stayed on the deck against his better instincts. He said I ran into things and fell down once, and that he had never been more afraid in his life. He showed me where he had dug his nails into the railing. He said he wanted to go after me, bring me back, sit me down and make me talk, but he knew in instances like these it was sometimes best for victims of "severe panic attacks" at first distance themselves from the situation. I was glad he didn't follow me. If he had, I might have thrown up all over his expensive shoes. I remember throwing up. I knew I was going to be sick before the nausea hit. I collapsed against the closest oak and emptied the contents of my stomach all over the forest floor. I knew I never should have drunk all that blood at once. I thought it wouldn't be so bad the second time but it was worse.

That's when Carlisle became concerned enough to take action. I had turned half-way around, thinking to make some distance between myself and the mess I had made but found I had become strangely immobile, and through the leaves I saw Carlisle dash off the deck―he didn't bother with the stairs as I had but plunged cleanly over the railing. I don't remember what happened next but Carlisle said I slumped against the tree and collapsed to the ground like a puppet cut from his strings. He said by the time he knelt beside me (which took all of three seconds) I was crying. Not human tears, but venom tinged pink with the blood I had gorged myself on slipped down my cheeks.

Carlisle said I didn't even seem to see him. I probably didn't.

"Malakai," he said, trying to snap me out of it, but I kept crying just the same. "Malakai, talk to me."

He said he didn't keep track of how long I cried, but I knew by his reluctance to say anything that it had been a very long time. Finally I responded to his pleas. I wiped my eyes dry and focused on his lined and worried face.

"Malakai, tell me what's happening. Why are you so upset?"

Upset. _Upset_? I could have laughed. Upset didn't even break the surface. "I'm not in love, h I said blankly, not knowing how to convey the devastation that accompanied this admission.

Carlisle was typically sympathetic. "Is there something I can do?" he asked soothingly. His hands wanted to touch me, comfort me, but, knowing I would never allow it, kept their distance.

I shook my head, the rational stoic side of my brain regaining brief control. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Malakai." Carlisle looked to rebuke me, but changed his mind. "Let's take a walk."

We made a long sloping slant through the wood down to the lake shore. We walked along the beach, shuffling further from the house. The sand stretched out before us like some great unfurling carpet. We kept close to the trees lest Carlisle attract attention should we happen upon any stray humans on the beach. It seemed unlikely. Despite the blinding sunshine, it was rather cold and windy and altogether the wrong setting for the way I was feeling. I wanted gusting winds and pounding rain and dark ominous clouds with lightning and great booming thunder. . . But all I had was Carlisle. And that was no good. His skin refracted like a thousand tiny dancing prisms in the sunlight, while mine held but a faint sheen. It did not make me feel any better.

Carlisle said at some point I stopped walking and turned my face toward the distant, colorless horizon. I took an awfully long time to talk.

"I'm not crazy," I said.

"I know you're not," Carlisle said quickly. "But I don't understand. Just the other day you were telling my wife―"

"I lied!" I turned on him. He flinched back almost imperceptibly. "Good God Carlisle! You should know that about me by now!"

He said nothing.

I wrenched my eyes from him in disgust. I felt I might start crying again. Why did it have to be Carlisle? He was too nice and understanding, too concerned about my feelings. I wanted Lucas. He would know what to do. Or at the very least he would tell me to stop blubbering and grow up. On second thought, maybe I was too devastated to make good decisions. Besides, I was still mad at him wasn't I?

"You'll find someone else," Carlisle said in what I knew he thought was an encouraging way.

I sunk my hands into my pockets, glad to have them empty for once. I think I sighed. "I know, Carlisle.

I know I will. I always do. That's all I ever find, is someone else. At least that's all I've found."

I heard Carlisle take a hesitant step out of the shade. "This isn't just about Rachel is it?"

"Of course it's not just about Rachel." I turned back to him, feeling strangely calmer and dangerously nostalgic.

"What is this about, Malakai? What is this really about?"

I didn't answer immediately. I thought of my mother and what she would think of my life if she were here. She had been so keen on seeing me married that I knew, though she would love me no less for being unwed, I had let her down. And I couldn't bear that. "I am almost two hundred years old, Carlisle, and I have never, save but once, been in love." I walked back to him and we sat down together on a fat rotting log. "Just one, beautiful, darling girl."

"Tell me about her."

I sighed again. "We practically grew up together. We met when I was eleven and she was six, and I knew before I had even turned eighteen that I wanted to marry her. My mother thought it was a wonderful idea and I'm sure she knew I loved this girl before I knew it myself. My father, on the other hand, didn't approve. In his eyes she was too poor, too common, too whatever he thought was undesirable that week. He thought because I was born to privilege I should marry privilege. 'No son of mine,' he said, 'is going to marry a pauper.' It was a ludicrous claim; her family was very respectable and rather well off. I think―I like to pretend, anyway―that he was jealous. I think he thought if an arranged marriage was good enough for him, it was good enough for me." I paused to take a breath. Several, in fact. It was incredible. My father, though dead and buried for one hundred-fifty years could still put a bitter taste in my mouth. I had never stopped hating him. . . But that was a road I wouldn't dare go down today. "Anyway, I didn't give a damn about what he said. I didn't give a damn if he wrote me out of his will or chopped me out of the family tree. I was going to marry that girl.

"Now, my mother died a little over a month after I turned twenty-six. Three months prior, my dearest friend and future wife turned twenty. Her father, being so very proud of his youngest daughter, threw her a sort of coming out party. I had this grand, elaborate plan about how to get her alone enough to propose, but the she found me and asked me to dance and took me out to the garden, and before I could say a word the doctor's apprentice from Oxford came bounding up to tell me my mother's condition was deteriorating. I left that very night. For four months I hardly left her side. She died on a Sunday, was buried on a Tuesday and by the end of the week I wasn't living either. I didn't think I would ever, could ever, see this girl again. So I bought a house outside of London under a pseudonym, and for three years I pretended to be an eccentric hermit while I tried to learn what the city thought had happened to Malakai Ross. I swear, Londoners say the most sensational things. In one city block I learned I was dead, married to a Russian duchess, had either joined the army or a convent or had been kidnapped by pirates. When I learned I had become a prostitute in Paris I had had enough. I sold the hermit's house and bought it under my own name, hired more help that I needed and threw the grandest party London had ever seen just to put an end to those ridiculous rumors.

"And then, well, what could I expect for being gone for three years? She wasn't the same anymore and neither was I. Hell, I wasn't even human anymore. How was I going to marry her now? I couldn't give her the life she wanted, couldn't grow old with her. It was just as well. Someone else had started courting her in my absence and I knew they would be married by the end of the year. They might have been too if I hadn't kept her out too late one night and, had she not caught cold, I wouldn't have had to call you."

"Oh," Carlisle said, and I could see the gears turning behind his eyes as he fit the pieces together. "I never suspected Clara. Did she recover? I know she was still ill when we left for Oxford that Christmas."

"Yes, she did. She recovered very well and in the spring she married a harmless man, had many children, and she lived a very long and happy life while I got stuck with you. No offense," I added quickly, not wanting him to think I blamed him for my botched love life.

"None taken," he said with a bit of a smile. "But I'm sorry things couldn't work out for you."

I shook my head, much engrossed with a nearby leaf. "Don't be. It wasn't your fault. If it was anyone's fault it was Cecil's."

Carlisle chuckled. I think he thought I was being ironic. When he saw that I wasn't he said "Cecil? What makes you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said airily. "It might have had something to do with the fact that he was in love with me, and as flattering as it was, I couldn't see it ending well." I picked up the leaf I had been staring at and turned it in my hand "Or beginning for that matter."

"Whatever happened to him?"

"To Cecil?"

"If you don't mind my asking."

I crushed the leaf between my hands. "A lot of things happened to Cecil, Carlisle. Most of them unpleasant and unfair, but ultimately he died."

Carlisle sounded surprised. "I always thought you would change him."

I laughed sourly. "You know, maybe if he hadn't just wanted me for sex I would have, but it didn't work out that way." I thought back to the night Cecil had come to me, how desperate he had been. "One night he showed up out of the blue. It was raining and very late. I was sitting in my old house, thinking I might burn it all when I heard Cecil and George, my driver, going at it in the front lawn―they were always going at it. Anyway, Cecil just had to see me. It was a matter of life and death, he said. I swear he went through a hundred cigarettes that night. He―"

"Why have I never heard this?"

"You didn't come back to England."

"What did he want?"

"Well, since you asked," I said after a minute, surprised by how detached I sounded, "he wanted me to kill him. Homosexuality wasn't technically illegal"―I put the word in air-quotes―"at the time, but it might as well have been. Cecil knew it was only a matter of time before his reputation was ruined. Not that he made any great effort to hide it."

"You killed him?"

"No. I couldn't," I said. I shook my head. "To think . . . No. I sent him to Athens, thinking some distance and a change of scenery would . . . I don't know. Anyway, it didn't help." I looked away, my throat strangely dry. "He shot himself a week later."

"That's terrible."

I shook my head. "The terrible thing was I arrived four hours later. I would have been there in time if that storm hadn't blown up on the Mediterranean."

We sat on that log for what felt like hours. I wondered why Carlisle let it go on. Even I had grown tired of hearing myself talk. But Carlisle hadn't done anything to deter me. He rather seemed to be encouraging me. I didn't know what alternate reality I was living in, but I didn't like it. I waited for him to say something. What he said wasn't what I expected. He sat up a little straighter, much the same way a dog might puff itself out to scare off intruders. (But who are they kidding?) His hands settled over his knees and he turned ever so slightly to address me. His eyes had darkened considerably in the last four days. They looked thoughtful and a little perplexed, like he wasn't quite sure how he was going to say what was on his mind. "Malakai." His voice held a new authority, not an aggressive authority, but the calm assumed authority of a village elder. So he was playing the "I'm older and therefore wiser" card again. "Forgive me if I sound insensitive, but what does this have to do with Rachel?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I should think it obvious."

Carlisle shook his head.

"Well," I said, trying to remember how Lucas had worded it. For an idiot, he could be incredibly insightful. "It's really quite simple. And it all comes down to the fact that I compare every girl I've ever been with to Clara. She was the only one for me, and I can't seem to let that go. According to Luke, my subconscious clings to it. In that respect I can never fully devote myself to a relationship. Then I realize, sometimes quickly, sometimes not, that I'm being unfair or selfish or a liar or whatever because how can I have an emotional connection with anyone when I'm in love with someone else? I think that's how Luke put it, anyway."

"Clara has been dead a long time, Malakai."

I sighed. I had had this conversation with Lucas before. "So have I. And we all know old habits die hard. Besides that, Cecil, may he rest in peace, was only too kind to show me the scary, obsessive kind of love that I never want any part in ever again. But perhaps it is my fate. Luke certainly thinks so."

"What is your fate?"

I laughed despite myself. "To ultimately be alone without love. Forever."

"That isn't true."

"It's not untrue so far. Why should I bother to prove it otherwise? Every time I've tried it's been unsuccessful."

"Perhaps you try too hard."

I wrinkled my nose at the thought and shook my head. "No, the universe is out to get me. In the end I will be betrayed by the last person I have left and die for a love that isn't mine." I said all this airily, and Carlisle must have noticed my lightened mood because the next thing out of his mouth was "I take it you're feeling better," followed by the briefest look of relief mingled with disappointment.

"Marginally." I picked up another leaf and became vaguely aware that the sun had moved quite low while I talked. I noticed Carlisle wasn't particularly listening to my answer.

"Malakai, who's Luke?"

If there was any one piece of information I wanted to keep private, it was that. I sighed dramatically, making a grand gesture to show just how sick I was of hearing myself talk. "Actually, Carlisle, if you don't mind terribly, I thought I could take my turn now."

"Turn?"

"For 20 Questions. You've asked me at least thirty, and I don't think that's very fair of you." He looked as if he would have been happier if I would forget about that. But I didn't care what he thought; I still thought it was funny.

"What sort of question do you have for me?"

"Well, you know," I said, sliding closer to him like I had a secret to share. "I'm curious about one thing."

Carlisle pretended he wasn't bothered by my proximity. "What might that be?"

"What exactly do the Volturi want with this Bella of yours?"

A scowl settled over Carlisle's features. "The same thing they always want. Power, control, conquest."

"She has a gift then?"

He nodded without feeling. "No doubt Aro is planning―"

"No, not Aro. Caius. He's renewed his anti-werewolf crusades. He's looking for . . ." I cut off. Shit. I really shouldn't have said that.

Carlisle looked to me in alarm. "How do you know that?"

I couldn't tell him Felix had been the one to tell me. He'd kill me if he knew. I played it off as if everyone knew. "Word gets around," I said flippantly, then added "I'm not the one who's been cut off from the rest of the world for the last two years, you know."

For whatever reason, Carlisle found this to be a reasonable answer. "If what you say is true, then I think I understand their reasons for taking her by force."

"Ah yes. Everyone in that silly coven knows you're a pacifist to the core. And with your respect for all living things, there's no way you would ever sign off on assisting in the eradication of an entire species. Because, unlike the Volturi, your conscience still works." I thumped him on the back. "Good for you."

He made that face again. "I can't tell if you're mocking me or if you're being sincere."

"Very sincere, Carlisle. Caius has become so paranoid in his old age that if you even hint at the word werewolf he jumps clean right out of his skin. Besides, who gives him the right to decide?"

Carlisle only shook his head, much too consumed in his thoughts to respond.

My ears pricked at the sound of a motorcycle in the drive. "Edward's back already?"

Carlisle rose off the log fluidly. "Must be Esme. Oh, by the way, Malakai," he added as we walked up the steep-sided hill back to the house, "I'm going to have to draw some more blood."

I stopped walking. "What? Why?"

He looked back at me but kept walking. "Because I ran out; I need more."

"But I don't. . ."

"There you two are." Esme leaned over the back of the porch and smiled at us. She was wearing jeans today, and she looked stunning. I told her so. "Thank you," she said. "Do you know your phone is going off upstairs?"

"Still?" I thought Aro would have given up by now. Either he was more desperate than I thought, or someone else was trying to get a hold of me now. I decided I would go in and check rather than hang around while Carlisle and Esme made out on the back porch. Ordinarily it might not have bothered me, but after suffering a mental breakdown only hours before, I didn't think I could stomach it. Some people really should learn to get a room.

~*~  
Felix had bad news. "He said no."

"No?" Aro was incredulous. No one ever said no.

"He thanked you very kindly for the offer, but he feels he must decline."

"Damn," Aro swore under his breath. He stormed out of the room shouting for Marcus.


	23. Before

**Before**

Before Aro's sudden and seemingly unwarranted interest in Malakai, before Malakai finally realized (eight years after the fact) that Lucas had been right all along, before something terrible and unpreventable was to happen, Carlisle Cullen sat alone in his office. He had been in there all evening, just like the night before. For the second day in a row, he had left work early, kissed his wife hello upon his return home, and hid in his office. He didn't reemerge until eight the next morning before he had to report to St. Mary's. Esme was less than happy about the arrangement and feared it was becoming a bit if a routine. She'd be damned if she was going to spend another night alone.

She sat, poised and proper, in the unused kitchen, devising a plan to pry Carlisle away from his pet project. ("I don't mind being called that," Malakai had said when the phrase had slipped out the afternoon at the beach, "so long as I don't have to be a dog." Esme had laughed. "What would you like to be, then?" "A cat," he said quite seriously, "perhaps an emu. But not a dog." Esme though he would make a better peacock than he would an emu―he was much too dramatic for an emu―but she kept it to herself.) Peacock or no, she wasn't about to let him monopolize another second of Carlisle's time. Even if he was "sick".

Ascending the stairs as silently as she knew how, Esme tiptoed past the patient's room and stood for a moment outside the office door. But only for a moment.

Carlisle sat in his favorite chair, his fingers drumming a melancholy tune on the worn grain of the ancient desk, staring pensively out the window. He was brooding. That much Esme could see. But why and for how long she could only guess. Not that it particularly mattered. Regardless of why he was brooding, she knew that the longer he kept at it, the less she was likely to get out of him. She never had liked him brooding. Not only was their love life nonexistent, but . . . no, that was basically it. Experience had taught her that a brooding Carlisle never performed half as well as a clear-headed one. . .

He turned his head ever so slightly as she came in. Esme only managed to get a brief smile out of him before he returned his gaze to the window.

. . .And from the looks of things, they had a lot to muddle through before that happened.

She hovered by the door, waiting for him to say something though she knew he wouldn't. He had always been content to let her break the silence. She wasn't going to do it this time. Hoping instead to force his hand, she walked away from him to the only swatch of wall not overgrown with bookshelves. Instead the space housed a half-dozen or so paintings and photographs, all of various ages and size, all vying for her attention. Only one received it. It was the 8x10 black and white Malakai had defaced with his Sharpie. Coincidentally―though not many knew this―it was also the photo Malakai had snapped with his 1940 Leica III camera. His girlfriend at the time, the vampire Persephone who was four hundred years his senior, had surprised him with it Christmas morning. (Persephone also happened to be, besides a talented violinist, the third and final vampire Malakai ever dated. He had sworn off them following a very emotional and bloody break up when Malakai arrived home four hours early on New Year's Eve and found Persephone in bed with another man―three other men, to be precise. None of them lived to see the New Year.)

Between getting the camera and getting his heart crushed, Malakai was in Italy per Aro's request. It is my dearest Christmas wish, Aro had written in a letter the previous week along with various threats of blackmail if Malakai so refused. Naturally, Malakai went with loud protest and, just as naturally, he took his new camera with him. Of the thirty-plus rolls of film he went through that week, at least eight were of the Inseparable Trio. Aro, who never turned down an opportunity to steal the spotlight, was flattered; Caius, who wrongfully thought he was un-photogenic, grew steadily more explosive as the hours wore on; Marcus was, surprisingly, completely apathetic in every shot. Except for one. It wasn't the smile Malakai had hoped for, but anything was better than nothing so that very same day he had the film developed, enlarged, copied, framed, wrapped, packaged, and shipped to the roughly four hundred registered covens on what Malakai termed the Volturi's "we like you enough not to kill you so here's a picture to remind you who's in charge" list. He had been tempted to write that on the cards he sent with the print, but ultimately he opted for a more generic (and safer) "Seasons Greetings". Needless to say, there were more than a few raised eyebrows that New Year, Carlisle's among them.

Esme saw none of this as she studied the faces beneath the smudged black ink. She saw only The Three―Aro, Caius, and Marcus―caught in a candid moment. Aro was customarily in the center, his signature half-smile on his face, his hands clasped in front of him though you couldn't quite see. The only strange thing was that instead of smiling into the camera as he did in every other photo and portrait, his head was turned away, preoccupied with something just outside the edge of the frame.

Caius stood off and behind Aro's left shoulder, staring murderously at the same thing Aro seemed so pleased about. But that wasn't so strange. Caius was always staring murderously at something. The one really peculiar thing about the photo was Marcus. He was standing some ways off to the right and appeared to be the only one who realized they were being photographed. His face, though customarily blank, managed to look like it meant to reprimand whoever was behind the lens. Malakai had been very pleased with himself.

Carlisle watched her fixedly from behind his desk for some time, his chin propped up on his hand. He wondered what she was thinking as she stood with her back to him. He wondered if she was upset with him. He knew she certainly had reason to be. On a whim he rose out of his chair and went to her. Brushing her hair from her shoulder, he gently pressed his lips to her neck. "I'm sorry," he murmured against her skin.

Esme hmmed, a sign she wouldn't forgive him that easily. Though already she felt her resolve cracking.

"Very, truly sorry," he went on, kissing her again.

Her previous notions of conversation suddenly didn't seem so important. She whirled around, ready to accept his apology. But Carlisle was already back in his chair, a playful glint in his eye. He motioned for Esme to join him.

She laughed, took one step and landed delicately in his lap. "I've missed you," she whispered, tugging at the tie he had never taken off. "A lot." She leaned a little closer.

"I've missed you, too." He pulled her closer still.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt, Esme thought, biting her lip as he trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, to wait until after. . . No. It had to be now. If she gave in now she would have nothing left to bribe him with later. He didn't deserve her anyway. Not with the way he had treated her yesterday.

While Esme was weighing her options, Carlisle's hand was creeping steadily higher up her short dress.

He had just secured a handful of panty when Esme made up her mind and dealt him a sharp slap to the face.

"No," she said firmly, like one might tell off an over-zealous dog.

Carlisle stopped kissing her and drew back in surprise, his hand frozen on her thigh. "What do you mean no?"

"I mean," Esme said, chasing him out from under her dress, "that you're not getting anything―and I mean anything until I get an explanation."

"Explanation for what?"

"For why you ignored me all day yesterday."

"It wasn't all―" He cut off at the look he was getting from her. "But I'm not ignoring you now."

"But you are," Esme pointed out softly. "I'm worried about you, Carlisle. You haven't been yourself lately. I know you two were friends once, quite close from what Malakai says, but I can tell by the face you make―that one right there―that something's bothering you."

Carlisle sat and said nothing. She was right. He hadn't been himself lately and it was all Malakai's doing. But how could he explain it to his wife when he didn't fully understand it himself? It was like Malakai had this sort of spell on him and try as he might, he couldn't break. It drove him crazy. Malakai was impossible to figure out, a mystery. Carlisle had never been able to predict what Malakai would or wouldn't do next. Carlisle credited that as the reason why he hung around as long as he had. When the mystery had finally faded, when, for an instant, Malakai's true intentions were made clear, Carlisle left without a look back. But things were different now. Carlisle couldn't just walk away this time. Not with those impossible blue eyes staring him in the face. Malakai knew that, Carlisle was sure.

Esme could see Carlisle was having trouble. Perhaps now would be a good time to bribe him. Perhaps she would be able to trick him into spilling his guts. "You know, there might still be a chance you'll get lucky before we leave. Of course, if you were coming with us. . ." She trailed off, hoping he could fill in the blanks.

"I can't. If Malakai―"

"Leave Edward with him."

"I couldn't. If Malakai should snap out of it while I'm away. . ."

"I should think Edward would do just fine."

"I'm sure he would. But I'm less concerned with what Edward could do to Malakai than with what Malakai might do to Edward. Well, perhaps not precisely what he might do more as what he might say. Especially with how unstable he is. Malakai has enough trouble with polite social decorum on the best of days."

"I've never seen him be anything but a gentleman."

"That's because you were lucky enough to be born female."

Esme laughed. "Not so kind to his male companions, is he? How is he doing, by the way?"

The doctor suppressed a groan. "He's starting to give me a headache."

"No improvement at all?" Esme fiddled absently with the buttons on his shirt. "Looks like you won't be getting your present this weekend after all."

Carlisle's hand closed over hers. He had so hoped Malakai's ridiculous notion of showering him with gifts had been abandoned. It seemed he had no such luck. "Esme, sweetheart, Malakai is the last thing I want to talk about right now. He won't let me near him, he won't give me any clues to what's happening to him, he can't follow instructions, he has no respect for authority, I'm almost certain he's keeping things from me, and," Carlisle paused to take an agitated breath. "He's an ass."

"I see he wasn't exaggerating when he said you two hadn't parted on the best of terms."

"No, we didn't."

Esme waited for Carlisle to elaborate. He didn't. "Kai was a little hazy with the details, too. Care to enlighten me or shall I continue to imagine the worst? You know I'm not Edward; I can't read your mind."

"We were in Paris," Carlisle said in a strange detached manner, as if he were telling a story he had only witnessed, not experienced personally. "Word of civil war in America was just beginning to reach the city. I was looking for an excuse to bring up America and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. You know what he said when I asked? 'I hate traveling, Carlisle. It's no fun at all.' The man who had dragged me across half of Europe was suddenly sick of traveling. It was ludicrous. The only reason he wanted to stay was because of some girl. He was madly in love with her―or the idea of her. He never would tell me one way or the other. She was the reason he learned French. She was the reason he rented that extravagant flat on the Seine. She was the reason he hosted the party of the decade that New Year. He may be an ass, but by God can he throw a party.

"It was almost midnight and he had slipped off alone with this girl. It suddenly occurred to me that it was his intention to change her. I felt I had a moral obligation to stop him. I found them in the library, Malakai's teeth sunk into her pale neck, the poor girl―He was killing her. His thirst had gotten the better of him and he couldn't stop. I couldn't let him kill her. How would we explain her death? It was a mistake to pull him off her, I knew that, but I never expected him to attack me like he did."

Esme's eyes went wide. "He attacked you!"

"He dropped the girl and lunged at me. I think we destroyed every bit of furniture in that room. . .He kept trying to rip my head off, but all he managed to do was take a bite out of my shoulder."

"He bit you!"

Carlisle nodded solemnly. "I was terrified that he was going to start sucking my blood so I kicked him. He went flying across the room and out the window. I got to the window in time to see him hit the cobblestone. There was this awful sound. Like bones shattering. He just laid there, staring up at me with this infinitely sad look on his face. I thought I had killed him. Then he got up, dusted the snow off his coat and walked off under the street lamps. I never saw him again."

"He just walked away? He didn't try to apologize?"

"Malakai is only capable of expressing remorse when it benefits him in some tangible way. He walked away that night because he knew his apology would mean nothing to me. So I packed my things and left for the coast that night. I was in America by the end of the month."

"Poor Malakai!"

"Yes, poor Malakai," Carlisle echoed with just a hint of sarcasm. He usually admired his wife's ability to lend sympathy to those who least deserved it, but given the circumstances and parties involved, he felt she should make an exception just this once.

"Poor you, too," Esme amended, stroking his cheek in the most sympathetic way. "But poor Malakai. He must have felt terrible. He probably didn't realize what he was doing, poor guy. He was only five years old."

"Twenty-five."

Esme waved off this small technicality. "Still, you were the first interaction he had with another vampire. I'm sure he would have apologized given the chance."

Carlisle shrugged. "I've never felt any pressing urge to hear it. I had all but forgotten him until he showed up two days ago." The doctor shook his head. "Him and his damn blue eyes."

Esme smiled to herself. She thought he would have put up more resistance, but he seemed more than willing to talk about Malakai now. "Do you really think he's turning into a human?"

"There's no doubt. At least he was. I'm quite sure he's turning back."

"Really?"

Carlisle nodded. "I think, though I can't be certain just yet, that this migraine is just a result of the venom regenerating itself. Whatever parts of his anatomy had turned human are in the painful process of turning back―at least some of the way."

"That's good news."

"Good and bad."

"What's bad about it?"

"I hoped to learn what's been causing his venom to deteriorate. Now it looks like I won't have the chance. Even the sample I took is starting to clear. I've never seen anything like it."

"But you must still have a theory or two."

Carlisle shrugged. "Theories without proof do little good. Malakai has no idea where or when he might have been infected. Of course, I have a suspicion he couldn't care less. As long as he gets his cure."

"Are you still going to run his blood through the―what is it again?"

"Apheresis," Carlisle said. "It was Edward's suggestion. I'm not sure if it will work, but ideally this machine is going to be able to separate his venom from whatever is turning him human. Then it will put the clean blood back. If I'm right about his headache then his body has already cleaned itself and apheresis won't be necessary. Before I can know for sure I'll need a new blood sample, and before I can do that I have to wait for Malakai to wake up, so to speak."

"And all of this means you won't be coming with us," Esme finished unhappily.

Carlisle held back a sigh. He didn't like seeing her unhappy. "Tell you what," he said. "If Malakai is up and about before Edward comes home this evening, I'll let him fend for himself this weekend."

"Some deal!" Esme exclaimed sullenly. "Edward is due back any moment."

Carlisle's laugh was apologetic.

Esme slid off his lap, feeling cheated. "Speaking of fending for himself," she said, walking back to the photograph.

"I think I know what you're going to say and I'm already ahead of you. Alice and I have something arranged for next weekend."

"Good. I think he's beginning to get a little anxious being cooped up in the house like this. He's not really one for staying in the same place for long, is he?"

"I guess some things never change. There was one instance at his summer home. . ." Carlisle trailed off abruptly, reminding himself that he didn't like the man.

Esme turned around. "Tell me."

"In a minute," he promised. "Come in Alice."

Alice poked her head in, smiling. "Sorry to interrupt, but I thought I might save you the trouble of calling me up later."

"Plans coming along?" Carlisle asked.

Her smile widened. "I had a feeling you would ask. Yes, though Jasper has declined the invitation, I have the whole evening set."

"I imagine you couldn't talk Edward into joining you either."

Alice shook her head. "So far it's just the two of us. Actually, while we're on the subject, I've been keeping a closer eye on him like you asked, and unfortunately he's disappeared again."

Carlisle was not as alarmed as Alice had anticipated. "When?" he asked, as if he were inquiring about tomorrow's weather.

"Roughly a week from now." She looked uneasy. "I'm beginning to worry."

"Jake and Renesmee are coming home soon. Are you sure that isn't what's interfering with your visions?"

"I thought so too at first. But we're not missing from the future."

"Perhaps it's something Kai's doing himself?" Esme offered, traveling unconsciously back to Carlisle's side.

Carlisle shook his head. "That doesn't seem likely. If he is, he can't be conscious of it."

"I agree with Carlisle," Alice said. "I've never run into someone who could erase themselves from the future―except Jake and his pack, but that's not quite the same thing."

"He did say he traveled to Forks originally," Esme tried again. "Perhaps he ran into the Quileutes. If he broke the treaty, the pack may be considering hunting him down."

Alice turned thoughtful. "That might explain why I can see everyone else. If the Quileutes don't know we're here, their decision to track Malakai may only put his future in jeopardy."

"Sounds like a bit of a stretch to me," Carlisle interjected. "I hate to say it, but I don't think there is anything we can do except wait and see. In the mean time, Alice, I have a question―"

"He dies."

"Ah, I see. I thought that might be the case. Thank you Alice."

Alice hovered for a moment longer. "You aren't thinking of trying it yourself are you?"

"Not directly, no."

Esme waited until they were alone to ask. "Care to explain?"

"I thought you were interested to hear about Malakai at his summer home?"

"I'm more interested in this."

Carlisle resigned himself. There was no getting around telling her now. "The first day Malakai was here he told me about a man he met years ago who had overdosed on LSD. Now, I'll spare you the details, but Malakai didn't see the point in passing up a perfectly good meal, and there was one unconscious and unable to fight back. He'd only taken a mouthful or two before he claims he passed out." Carlisle paused to gauge Esme's reaction. She was listening attentively. "It caught my attention, to say the least," he went on. "I never thought human drugs could have an effect on vampires. Since our bodies don't function the same way, most don't. But it got me thinking. . ."

Esme stopped him. "Hold on. Are you telling me that you considered testing drugs, which is crazy, by the way, on a anatomically unstable vampire―?"

"I briefly entertained the idea, yes. But to be fair, it was Malakai who suggested it first. Though now that Alice has seen that it won't end well, I suppose I wasted twenty dollars after all."

Esme stopped him again. "Hold on. Are you telling me you went out and bought illicit narcotics?

When? From whom?"

"Yesterday from an RN."

Esme face was incredulous. "You were on call?"

"Yes. I stopped in the middle of an open heart surgery―"

Esme pointed an accusing finger at him. "Don't get sarcastic."

"I was on break. So was he."

Esme was quiet.

"I imagined you would be more angry with me," Carlisle observed.

"I'm just trying to come to grips with the fact that the last hundred years of my life have been a lie."

"Which part?"

"The part where I married someone with such an appalling lack of respect for the law."

Carlisle raised his brow comically. "I'm surprised it took you so long."

"Now that I think about it, it was glaringly obvious."

He laughed. "Does this mean I'm not in trouble?"

Esme pursed her lips and floated out of the room without a word or a look back.

"Esme," Carlisle called after her, fearing he had just squandered the last chance he had of seeing any action tonight.

Esme reappeared in the doorway a second later. Carlisle was hopeful for a moment. "Edward's home," she said before disappearing again.

The front hall was busy with activity when Carlisle stepped off the staircase. It looked like Esme hadn't lost any time rounding up the troops.

"Where are we going?" Emmett asked from the front porch where he waited for the others. "Ontario?"

"Manitoba," Rosalie, walking past in her Fendi jacket, told him for what felt like the millionth time. The jacket was by no means practical—then again, no jacket was for a creature that didn't feel cold. Rosalie didn't care; it was pretty and it matched her eyes.

Carlisle noticed Edward standing on the edge of the room, just outside the bubble of commotion. _Haven't changed your mind?_

Edward shook his head once.

"Well!" Esme said, her eyes sweeping the house as if looking for something she had forgotten. They paused briefly on Carlisle before settling finally on Edward. There her expression softened. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us, dear?"

"I'll be fine, Mom," Edward smiled.

"All right." It was clear from the look she gave him that she didn't believe him. All the same, she gave him a swift parting kiss on the cheek and said "Suit yourself." At long last she turned to Carlisle.

"Esme," he started to apologize.

"We'll be home Sunday," she said and left without kissing him goodbye.

Edward raised an eyebrow after they had all gone. "What did you do?"

"I'm not sure."

There was a sudden noise above them, a loud thud, like a six-foot, four-inch man falling out of bed.


	24. Not Long After

**Not Long After**

Carlisle was outside Malakai's door in an instant. "Malakai."

There was no answer.

"Malakai." Carlisle tried the door and was met by an unexpected force. Malakai had barricaded the door. Carlisle wrenched it open with little effort, growing more concerned with each passing second. There was a clatter; Malakai's cell phone had fallen to the floor. Carlisle picked it up as he entered the darkened room. He found the battery laying close by.

"No, don't. . ." came the weak plea from behind the bed, but Carlisle had already snapped the battery into place. Almost immediately it started singing in his hand. "Ah, shut it off, shut it off," Malakai growled feebly.

Carlisle shut it off. He set it back on the dresser and pushed the dresser back into its proper place. He walked around the bed and saw Malakai on the floor. He looked all right. "Malakai, he said in his most soothing voice, crouching at Malakai's Italian leather clad feet. "How are you feeling?"

The vampire's foot twitched. "I think I'm dead."

"You're not dead."

"And you're a liar."

"What?"

Malakai shuddered as another wave of pain wracked his body. "Paris. You liked her, too. Demure little Delphine, chaste Dr. Carlisle. A lovely match."

"Now's hardly the time—"

"It's the perfect time!" Malakai cried, cringing at the sound of his own voice. "I did what you were too afraid to do. Or would have if you hadn't so rudely interrupted. I thought the three of us. . .But your silly ideals of purity and the soul blinded you to her affections. You have no idea how much she suffered for it."

Carlisle didn't know what to say.

They lapsed into silence.

"Did she survive?"

"No." There was a bitterness in his voice Malakai hadn't heard before. "I was forced to put her out of her misery, thanks to you."

"Pity."

They lapsed into silence.

"Who called?" Malakai croaked.

"I believe the caller ID said Idiot."

Malakai let out a soft cackle. "Must've been Lucas, crazy bastard."

They lapsed into silence.

"Did you want something?" Malakai rasped, shuddering again.

"You fell out of bed."

"Did I!" He sounded most surprised to hear this. "Well! That must explain the terrible pain in my ass. No, wait, I think that's you."

Carlisle stood up to leave.

"I am sorry I bit you, you know," Malakai muttered after the doctor had closed the door on him.

It took a great deal of effort not to slam it. He was downstairs in the next second, muttering under his breath. "Goddamn that stupid son of a. . ."

Edward appeared around a corner. He was looking both alarmed and amused by his foster father's unusually unfriendly thoughts.

_You should have gone with them._

"And miss all this?" The smile on Edward's face was almost genuine. "And no, his thoughts are no more clear to me now than they were the day he arrived. Did you really kill that girl?"

Carlisle tumbled into the living room and collapsed into the nearest seat. "I had no choice. She was starting to scream and I knew there was no way I could train a newborn. And I certainly wasn't going to allow Malakai to."

Edward listened in fascination as the color of Carlisle's thoughts changed from hostile to reminiscent. "He certainly did a number on you, didn't he?"

Carlisle shook his head in that slow, steady way people in denial always do. "The more I look back on it the more it all just seems like a bad dream."

Edward couldn't help but see the bits and pieces of memory Carlisle discarded as quickly as they surfaced. "I see that camel didn't make it out of the desert," he commented as the finale of the story Malakai never finished flickered through Carlisle's thoughts. "I've never tried camel. How was it?"

"Disgusting." Just the memory of it made Carlisle grimace. "It was a little like a horse or a cow but drier and almost gritty. It's just as well though. The one time Malakai agrees to try animal blood and it happens to be the worst one I've tasted to date. He swore never again after that."

"But the boy survived, I see."

Carlisle changed the subject tactlessly. "I'll just be happy when all of this over and Malakai can return to wherever he came from."

The conversation turned stagnant after that; Carlisle felt if he never talked about Malakai Ross again as long as he lived it would be too soon. Edward was content to sit and say nothing as always. He did wonder sometimes why Carlisle had never mentioned this eccentric friend of his before. Then again, from the tone of Carlisle's thoughts, it didn't sound like Malakai had been much of a friend. The more Carlisle's mind wandered the more Edward could see that. There was only one thing Edward was itching to know.

"That letter of Malakai's you found the other day, what was it?"

It took Carlisle a moment to recall that Edward was referring to the day he was locked out of his own house. "Oh," he said. "That letter. It wasn't anything that should have surprised me." He relayed the story to Edward how Malakai had told him. The letter went with the car. They were both thank you gifts. Six year ago, Malakai had been busy helping a powerful Chinese coven with close ties to the Volturi take care of a few "financial problems." They had a strong interest in Black Market affairs. Malakai wouldn't go into detail, but assured Carlisle that he was overreacting. Carlisle didn't think so. He had met Fu, the two-thousand-year-old coven leader, once before. He was the kind of man who would just as soon tear your eyes out as look at you. Not the kind who gifted rare cars with See you soon written on the tag.

"You think he's working for the Volturi, don't you?" Edward's eyes darkened at the thought. It wasn't so farfetched. Edward had always held the idea that it was only a matter of time before the Volturi came back to finish what they started. The Cullens were a liability now. They had seen the Volturi's true colors once too often and Aro couldn't afford word getting out. Edward could hear Aro justifying their murder now: Best to end things before they begin.

Carlisle picked his words carefully before answering. "I wouldn't hold it past him."

"What do we do?"

"I haven't thought of that yet. I would have told you sooner but then this"—he gestured at the ceiling, indicating he meant Malakai's current condition—"happened."

"But I don't get it. Why send a sickly vampire to take on a whole coven? Even if they sent him ahead to find us, what's taking them so long? And why hasn't Alice seen any of this?"

"Alice hasn't been able to see the Volturi for a long time now. Who knows. Maybe Malakai really can erase the future. It's actually quite brilliant of them. How could I say no to something as bizarre as a vampire turning human?"

Not long after that, Malakai picked himself up off the floor and felt better. And not long after that, when Felix persuaded Aro to accept defeat (if only for the day), and Malakai lied through his teeth to prevent Carlisle from suspecting anything (though he already did suspect), and Carlisle and Esme were reunited in the back yard, Malakai dashed up the stairs. He knew it wouldn't be Felix calling this time.

"Lucas!" he greeted happily before he had even pressed the phone to his ear. "I had a feeling you would come to your senses and miss me."

Downstairs and outside, the doctor and his wife were sharing a blissful moment of silence. It didn't last long.

"He seems better," Esme said with a smile.

"You should have been here an hour ago." He told her in as few words as possible of Malakai's unpredictable and animated breakdown. This time he didn't mind the sympathy she afforded him. When Esme asked him how he himself was fairing, he said: "I've had more eventful weekends," immediately followed by "Did Edward tell you Renesmee and Jake called?"

Esme smiled fondly. She had missed her granddaughter this past month, Jacob too. "No, but Alice beat him to it. Did something happen? Are they still flying home next week?"

"They weren't sure. When they called, Renesmee said they were still traveling with Nahuel and his small coven. Apparently there were reports of a 'demon' terrorizing a small village. They hadn't captured the rogue yet but they were closing in. I think Renesmee's hoping whoever they catch will know something about the Volturi—What the hell is Malakai doing up there?"

The noise above them was getting to the point where neither of them couldn't ignore it any longer. A second later the noise ceased and Malakai was in the living room, standing just on the other side of the glass door. He was wearing what he had came in. Right down to the purple shoes. His traveling clothes. Carlisle knew before he saw the suitcase that Malakai was leaving.

He looked sad for a moment then smiled. "Well—"

"You're not going anywhere," Carlisle cut in reflexively.

The blue-eyed vampire blinked in surprise. He clung to his suitcase tightly for fear it would be ripped away. "I beg your pardon."

"Wherever you're thinking of going, forget it. I can't permit you to leave." What was he saying? Carlisle didn't want him here. His patience with Malakai had slowly been ticking away as the days wore on. Why had he ever agreed to help him in the first place? He wanted Malakai gone, had been dreading that he would want to stay. But now he was leaving of his own accord and Carlisle said no? Then again, if Carlisle's suspicions were right, Malakai would be leaving for the Volturi. He couldn't let the vampire leave if that were true.

"I really can't stay, Carlisle," Malakai pressed, looking both nervous and apprehensive. "I have to be going."

"Going where?" Esme asked.

"Home, I suppose. To London."

"So soon?"

"I'm afraid so."

Around this time, everyone became aware of another presence in the conversation.

"Malakai!" it yelled in a strangely muted yet none less angry voice. "Pick up your goddamn phone you fucking moron!" Malakai turned quite pink on the face as he dropped his suitcase and frantically searched his pockets.

"Lucas," Malakai said, looking flustered as he pulled the cellular device from the dark recesses of his jacket pocket.

"Why the hell did you hang up on me?"

"I thought we were done. . ."

"No, you fucking asshole. I was in the middle of explaining something very important and suddenly all I hear is the dial tone on the other end."

Malakai laughed uneasily, quick to make some distance between himself and the doctor. Even so, Carlisle and Esme couldn't help but overhear.

"He sounds human," Carlisle said.

Esme strode to his side, her fingers locking around his. "He sounds angry."

"I'm sorry, Luke. I'm sorry. It was accidental. I didn't mean to upset you," Malakai apologized profusely. "I'm sorry. I can catch a flight this afternoon and be in London by morning."

"No," Luke said, his thinning patience beginning to show.

"What? What do you mean no?"

"I mean that you flying to London was never part of the plan."

"But Lucas! They threatened your life!" Malakai started pacing in front of the staircase. "What do you expect me to do? Sit idly by while they kill you?"

"Malakai. First of all. They're not going to kill me. Second of all. I'm not in London." It sounded like this wasn't the first time Lucas had explained this.

"Not in London!" Malakai was shocked. Lucas not being in London was like the Eiffel Tower existing in some other city besides Paris. It was impossible. It was unnatural. "Where the hell are you then!"

"Chicago. But Kai, listen—"

"Chicago! But that's not very far at all from where I am."

"Kai, please—Wait. You're in the States?"

Malakai wasn't listening. He was already making plans. "If I left now I could be there by evening . . ."

"I'm afraid that would be impossible, Kai."

Malakai paused in his pacing. "But why? It's not like I'm across the country. I could just as easily walk—"

"No, Kai. You can't come to Chicago. It would be impossible."

"But. . . Oh!" Realization dawned on him. His eyes snapped automatically to Carlisle. He and Esme were talking quietly to one another on the sofa and didn't appear to be listening. All the same, Malakai felt it would be better if he continued this conversation outside. He slipped out the front door. "I had forgotten about that. How long then before I can see you? I have so much to tell you, Luke. You wouldn't believe what I've been through."

Luke coughed. He was obviously uncomfortable with the subject. "I have a lot to tell you, too, Kai. But why don't I come find you afterward instead. I think it would be better."

Malakai nodded, forgetting for a moment that Lucas couldn't see the gesture. "Sure," he said quickly, feeling giddy for some unknown reason. "You're probably right."

"But, Kai?"

"Yes, Lucas?"

"Will you do me just one favor?"

"Anything, Lucas."

"Promise me you'll stay right where you are. I don't want to chase you around the globe anymore. I don't have the energy."

Malakai smiled. "When do you suppose you'll be able to come see me?"

"Oh, I don't know. A week. Maybe six days. Sorry, I have to go."

"Wait, Lucas! You haven't asked me where I'm staying. How will you find me?"

"Oh." Luke coughed again. "Daniel's been tracking your location during this conversation. I assumed you would tell me you didn't want to see me so we needed a backup plan. What are you doing in Wisconsin anyway?"

Malakai wasn't listening again. "Daniel knows how to do that?"

"Yes. And he's better at it than I would have thought. Here I was thinking I'd have to ask you about the twenty-four million that's mysteriously gone missing from three separate bank accounts of yours just to keep you talking while he worked. But now it looks like I won't have to do that."

"Wait, what do you mean—"

"Goodbye, Kai."

Malakai went back inside feeling used and unsatisfied. Someone was embezzling millions of dollars from him and he hadn't even gotten the chance to yell at Luke like he wanted.

"Carlisle!" Malakai declared to the whole house. "I have decided I'll be staying after all."


	25. Rain

**Rain**

Thunder ripped down the Wisconsin coastline. Lightning flickered in the distance. Sunday, Malakai thought glumly from the refuge of Carlisle's front porch. The day Alice promised it would rain. Malakai's car had already been pushed under the safety of Carlisle's garage. Pushed because when Malakai tried to start it all the damn thing did was grumble loudly in protest for a second or two before it gave one last sputtering cough and wheezed pitifully into silence. His repeated attempts to coax it back to life produced no results. Rosalie was working on it now. The wind yanked the yellow-gold leaves off the wispy birch trees, chasing them across the yard and over the house where they disappeared above the steeped roof. Malakai knew the rain would follow soon after. As if on cue, the clouds broke open and the countryside was drenched in cold, soggy precipitation.

_Stupid rain_, Malakai cursed it silently. How he wished it could have rained yesterday. How he wished Luke had called a week earlier. How he wished Felix had never called at all. What did Aro want with him anyway? Why did they think threatening Luke's life would make him cooperate? They were right, of course, but that was like hitting below the belt. Malakai knew Aro was fully aware of his complicated relationship with Lucas Brown, but he wondered how far that awareness extended. Surely he had mentioned it to Marcus at some point during their last meeting. He was quite sure Rachel knew nothing about it. But that was just as well. No need to warp her idealistic sense of reality any further.

_Darling Lucas_. Malakai realized too late that Lucas coming to Wisconsin would be just as impossible as Malakai going to Chicago. How would he explain Luke to Carlisle? Not only that, but how would he explain his blue eyes to Luke? Malakai had tried him a dozen times on his cell since they spoke, but he was unreachable, and Malakai knew perfectly well why. Malakai realized too late that Luke coming to Wisconsin would open a whole realm of his life that Malakai just wasn't ready to get into. He had been so happy to hear from his dear friend that any sense of propriety had flown out the window.

But now Carlisle was asking questions. _Why are you here?_ Malakai scoffed. Why did Carlisle think he was here? What did he want him to say? The truth? He had already told him the truth and Carlisle hadn't believed it. None of this would have happened f he had just burned that letter in the first place like Lucas told him to. But Malakai had thought it was funny, ironic even, and kept it. He was seriously regretting that decision now. No doubt Carlisle had come to the cliché conclusion that Malakai secretly had the Volturi's best interests at heart. As far as Malakai was concerned, the Volturi could rot in hell for all he cared. What business did they have threatening Lucas like that anyway? Whatever they wanted from him they sure as hell weren't going to get it now. He had tried to explain this to Carlisle, but Carlisle, as usual, heard what he wanted to hear and left in poor spirits for a double at St. Mary's. Malakai had said good riddance and put it out of his head. But when Edward and Alice and everyone arrived home several hours later and started asking questions of their own, Malakai had sought refuge on the front porch.

He needed something to distract them all with, something that might keep them from drawing any more heinous conclusions about him. Emmett had already predicted that Lucas was really Malakai's gay lover and— He never got a chance to finish his prediction. Malakai had quickly showed he wasn't in the mood to play these games today. Jasper had told him that before they even walked in the door. But when did Emmett every listen to Jasper?

Malakai sat down in the oversized wicker chair and sighed heavily. How he wished it would stop raining.


	26. Matinee

**Matinee**

Esme watched him out of the corner of her eye from the living room window. He looked lost, sad even. Poor guy. To Carlisle's dismay, Esme had believed him when he said he wasn't involved in the Volturi's latest escapades.

"I think he hates me." The words spilled out of Malakai's mouth before he could color them with a joke. Carlisle had left only minutes before. "I think he finally hates me."

"That's not true," Esme murmured encouragingly, sitting down with him at the dining room table. "He might be angry with you, but he doesn't hate you."

Malakai kept shaking his head.

"This is a very stressful time," Esme went on, trying not to feel like the only adult in a children's squabble. "For both of you. Carlisle is just as upset with himself for being unable to find the cause of. . ." His smile disarmed her, and she was forced to trail off helplessly.

"You're sweet, Mrs. Cullen, and very kind to me," he said, his smile fading. "But I must ask you to stop. I'm afraid I don't deserve it."

"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Ross."

"Is that so?" The mischievous smile was back in his eyes, his cool mask expertly replaced. "How wrong would you say? Wrong enough to deserve dinner and a movie?"

It turned out that getting out of the house was his aim all along, something Esme didn't realize until they had already purchased their tickets at the old two-screen theater in Algoma. It had taken less than ten minutes to walk the thirteen miles to the small town. Both films had been in the box office for weeks but neither Malakai nor Esme had seen either of them. Esme picked and Malakai paid. The poor girl behind the ticket booth looked like she had a million and one places she would rather be. Esme was about to walk through the double doors when she noticed Malakai wasn't beside her. He was in line at the concessions , waiting behind the only other patron at the tiny theater. Esme was puzzled by the lengths he went to to appear human. "Hungry?" she inquired as she had joined him in line.

His laugh was embarrassed. "Lucas and I, well, I suppose I should say Lucas—" The young man in front of them had scurried off with popcorn in one hand, Coke in the other and Raisinets tucked under his arm, and the man behind the counter was beckoning Malakai forward. He bought Twizzlers. When the red licorice was in his hands, Malakai turned to Esme to finish explaining. "Whenever Lucas and I see a movie, which is an extremely rare occurrence, he always gets these, and I always amuse myself by throwing them at people. It's become sort of a tradition."

"You're horrible!" Esme giggled quietly as they entered the empty theater.

"Lucas says the same thing."

They found their seats in the back. Malakai was disheartened that there was no one in the theater to throw his licorice at, but it turned out to be fore the best. If anyone had been unfortunate enough to pick the same theater, they would have had the noisy couple in the back thrown out. Neither of them could keep quiet long enough to enjoy the picture on the screen. Malakai kept coming up with funnier and funnier stories to tell her, and Esme kept having to bite her lip to keep from laughing too loud. When they walked out of the theater arm-in-arm two hours later, Esme didn't know whether they had seen a comedy or a horror.

Malakai voted in favor of skipping dinner when he saw the ominous gray of the thickening clouds above them. His car was still out on the drive. Esme couldn't help but notice that his mood was taking a steady turn southward the closer they got to the house. He had reached his previous level of melancholy before they had even turned up the driveway.

_Poor guy_. Esme felt partially responsible for his deflated mood. After all, her husband was the one who had started this fight. Maybe she could end it. She put down her book, she wasn't reading it anyway, and stepped outside.

Malakai didn't hear the door open. "Kai, are you all right?"

He looked round with a tired smile. "No worse than usual," he lied. "I was only thinking."

"I can come back," she said, thinking she may have acted prematurely.

"No, Esme," he said hastily, jumping up. "Mrs. Cullen, please. I was just thinking―" He crossed the porch and took her hands in his. "Wondering, I suppose." He was flustered. Esme thought it was cute. "May I tell you how I was changed? Would you still like to know?"

Esme watched him carefully. Naturally, she was eager to hear the story Carlisle refused to tell them, but wondered if now was the best time. "Of course," she said, smiling despite herself. "Are you sure it won't give everything away?"

He smiled at her. "I think I should like to tell you."

He had an audience waiting for him in the living room when the two of them stepped inside. Alice was smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. She had been waiting for this moment all week. Jasper sat beside her, looking much more relaxed than Malakai remembered. Rosalie and Emmett were playing chess across the coffee table, pretending that they were only there on accident. Edward had yet to join them, but Malakai knew it was only a matter of time. There were several seconds of impatient silence as Malakai took his time finding a suitable seat. He invited Esme to join him on the loveseat and waited until she had before he began his story.

"My mother," he said with effort, then smiled. "Growing up my mother was the world to me. She was. . .absolutely exquisite. Every memory I have of my childhood―and they are few and far between―are of her. She had this certain way of walking, of moving around a room that would have been unbecoming on anyone else, but for her it was the most natural thing in the world. She was enchanting and kind to everyone, even if they didn't deserve it―Perhaps that is why I am so fond of you Esme; you remind me of her." Esme smiled. "The thing is," he went on, talking to the group now. "The problem was she married my father. I never understood why. You must understand that he wasn't a cruel man. He worked hard to provide for his family and I'm sure he loved my mother dearly. He just never showed it. That was his only vice; being too cold and callous toward my mother and I. I eventually forgave him for that when I got older. I even forgave him for using my University money to fund some grand scheme that never made it out of the gate.

"I could not, however, and to this day I still do not, forgive him for leaving my mother for another woman when she became ill. She, who had been faithfully devoted, was now abandoned and no one, not I, not even Carlisle had he been there, could have brought her back. I don't doubt she died of a broken heart, and on the eve of her funeral, for which the clouds could not even muster up a sprinkle, I found myself with two options; I could either return to Oxford with my father and his mistress where I was sure to murder both of them, or I could stay in Whales and get myself plastered. I chose the one least likely to land me in prison. I don't know how many drinks I had before he came in. I don't know how many more he bought me before I had confessed everything, and—Carlisle, why don't you come and join us?"

The eldest Cullen had just stepped in the door. He looked round the room―Edward leaning against the bookcase, arms folded, no doubt given up trying to sift through Malakai's head; Jasper and Alice cuddled on the couch, Alice watching and listening with a fixed interest, Jasper trying to look uninterested and almost succeeding; Rosalie in the other chair, as equally enthralled as Alice; Emmett sitting on the carpet; Esme smiling at him―and wondered what the hell was going on.

"You're just in time," Esme told him.

"For what?"

"Malakai was just telling us about the gentleman in the bar."

"He's already heard it," Malakai said, pulling his hand out of Esme's. "At least my drunken version of it."

"I wasn't aware there were other versions," Carlisle said, watching the two of them with something like contempt in his eyes. Esme raised her eyebrows in his direction, inviting him to take the last empty seat. The corner of his mouth tightened, as if to say no, he would stay where he was. Esme shrugged her shoulders.

"Just one other." Malakai's smile was very mysterious, hoping to pique his interest to avoid another fight. "Perhaps it is best you should come now. I was only going to tell them my side of it, but you know I never like to tell the same story twice. Especially to the same people. Well, either way, they start the same."

"Wait a minute," Carlisle stopped him, realizing what the "one other" had to be, or rather who. "You found him? I thought you said you didn't know—"

Malakai waved him away in haste. "Carlisle. Please. You're jumping ahead. Besides, I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

Malakai pursed his red lips. "He would prefer to remain anonymous, as I would prefer him to be. I fear it would change your opinion of me if I told you. Perhaps another time. His identity doesn't change the events of my death. Rebirth. Whatever. Now, where was I?"

"He was buying you drinks," Esme reminded him softly, looking at Carlisle as she said it.

"Ah, yes. This is where my memory is vague. He told me that after the fourth or fifth round I very ungraciously told him I had to get home. He said it was very funny watching me walk out—I'd never gotten drunk like that before. I'm sure I ran into something—What was it he said? Something about how I was so amusing he changed his mind about killing me and decided to see where I would go. He said when he got outside I was standing there like I was waiting for him. Perhaps I was. I don't remember, though I guess I asked him what was the best way to get to London. I think I thought I was going to walk home. He offered me a ride, he had his own coach, and I very stupidly accepted.

"I sat on one side, and he sat on the other, and it took me all of two minutes to pass out. He told me he sat there for the longest time wondering what to do with me. All I remember, of course, was the pain and him sitting there. Watching me. I knew then that I was going to die. Here in this carriage with the stranger staring at me, I was going to die. I don't know how many hours or how many days past, but the pain finally ceased. I thought at first that meant I was dead. When I realized I wasn't, I opened my eyes. I was still in the carriage―or what was left of it―and the man was gone. The driver was gone, the horses were gone, two wheels were gone, and the coach was on its side in the middle of a decaying forest. I found one of the wheels some way off, shattered to pieces. I found the driver, too, not far beyond with a wheel spoke through the back of his head, lying in a pool of blood. I stumbled toward him and crouched down to see if he might still be alive. I got his blood on my hands. And I sat there for hours, staring at them, feeling my through getting hotter and hotter, and wondering why the hell I wasn't dead."

"Did you drink his blood?" Emmett wanted to know.

"What? No. Of course not. He had been dead for hours. And let's just say he didn't smell all that appetizing. No, I think I was too confused or too scared to know what to do."

Everyone waited for him to go on. But it appeared that Malakai was done talking.

"Wait, that's it? That's all you're going to tell us?" Alice looked forlorn.

"That's all you wanted to know, isn't it?"

"You can't just stop a story like that. What happened after that?"

"After that?" Malakai echoed, looking thoughtful beneath his growing smile. "A great many things happened after that."

"So they left you? Just like that?"

"Yes and no. When I awoke there was no one with me. But after I had wiped the man's blood from my hands, I had enough sense to rifle through my pockets. I found several hundred pound notes in one and a letter in another. 'Forgive me,' it said. 'Circumstances prevent me from staying.' Then it went on to explain in as few words as possible what I was and the rules I had to follow. Then it told me to find the chest located under the carriage floorboards and the key in my jacket pocket. It was signed 'best regards' and no name. I opened the chest with the key. Inside I found fifty-thousand pounds, a deed and title to a large property and a map showing me how to get there."

"That's how you got that house?" Carlisle was stunned.

"Yes. Did I never tell you that?"

"No, you never told me your nameless sire left you a thirty-thousand acre estate."

Malakai chuckled. "Bit excessive of him, wasn't it?"


	27. Blackmail

**Blackmail**

"Hardly! It's madness! Sheer lunacy! Marcus should know better than to—"

"Now, now Caius. I entreat you to calm yourself." Aro was growing tired of his brother's eccentric rants and violent mood swings. He had half a mind to put an end to it once and for all. "You are not seeing the bigger picture."

Caius paused in his frantic pacing. "Bigger picture? Please, enlighten me Aro for I fail to see how Malakai Ross"—he spat the name out like poison—"plays into the bigger picture. There is no bigger picture! Ridding the world of werewolf scum! That's the bigger picture!"

"Caius."

"Besides, aren't you the one who said he was sympathetic toward those mangy mutts."

"It is more than sympathy, I assure you. But Caius—"

"He can't possibly be of any worth to us then, even if you do manage to successfully blackmail him."

Annoyed, Aro cleared his throat, his smile never once falling out of place. "Caius, dear brother, I entreat you to be silent and let me explain."

Caius took the hint and took a seat and shut up.

"Now, though it is true that our beloved Malakai is sympathetic, to use your words, toward our canine companions, I believe his allegiance can be swayed even without Chelsea's help. However, I'm afraid he's not the only one of our kind who would be. . .hesitant to take up arms against these beasts. Even though the Cullen clan is a rather domesticated breed, they will be our biggest opposition. And, as we learned on our previous encounter, Carlisle is in no short supply of obliging friends. Which is why—and I still haven't forgiven you for letting slip our plans to Makki—we have to keep this under tight wraps until just the right moment."

"Slip of the tongue," Marcus recited for the thousandth time.

Caius tapped his finger on the ornate armrest. "That's all well and good, Aro, but I am afraid I fail to see what any of this has to do with Malakai Ross."

"Everything!" Aro proclaimed gleefully.

Caius blinked blankly.

"Marcus!" Aro waved for the silent third wheel to enlighten them all.

Marcus unhappily obliged. "Ross possesses a certain gift that Aro believes will be most useful to us."

"Gift? I wasn't aware he had any special talents."

"Neither were we. At least not until Tomas, his fledgling, dropped in some months ago."

"Ah, yes," Caius said, remembering the visit with clarity. "I remember. Nervous fellow, wasn't he? Bit of a five o'clock shadow."

"Quite right," Marcus said, steering the conversation back on point. "Apparently they had a bit of a falling out back in 1890 and haven't spoken or seen each other since. But Tomas did stay long enough to pick up on his sire's subtle gift."

Aro couldn't help himself. "How I do love subtle gifts," he beamed, practically brimming over with excitement.

"Quite right," Marcus said again.

"Yes, yes," Aro apologized hastily. "Do continue."

"Please," Caius added, curious to know what all the fuss was about.

Marcus waited until he was sure there would be no more interruptions. "According to Tomas, Malakai has a knack for manipulating a person's free will."

Caius was unimpressed. "How is that different from what Chelsea can do?"

Aro took a moment to quell his growing frustration. "Where Chelsea is limited to to manipulating a person's loyalty, our dear Malakai is not." He clapped his hands together in delight. "Think of the possibilities! He can make anyone do whatever he wants. Think of the possibilities! With a little training he could win this war single-handedly." Marcus thought the excitement might cause Aro to spontaneously combust.

"How so?" Caius asked.

"He could convince the enemy to commit suicide. Or at the very least convince our opposition to see a new light. Starting with Miss Bella Swan," he added at the look on Caius's face at the idea of not being able to march off into battle.

"Why wasn't I told of this sooner? And how is it you didn't know? You've seen his thoughts a dozen times at least. Surely. . ."

"Yes, and the last time was fifty years ago. It is quite plausible that Malakai is equally unaware of his own gift; Tomas certainly thought so. He may not have been doing it consciously. How else do you explain why he and Carlisle stayed together as long as they did? It's true Carlisle loved him, but only as long as Malakai told him to. Carlisle didn't leave. Malakai let him go." Aro paused for dramatic effect. Caius looked mildly interested and Marcus looked bored again. Aro pressed on. "The only real trouble is getting him here. He hasn't been to any of his usual haunts in months. I feel he's being most uncooperative."

"I thought we had gotten around that by employing his Lucas to fetch him for us." Marcus was sure they had had this conversation before.

"Yes, well, it seems Makki's stubbornness has rubbed off on him a little more than we'd like," Aro said. "And of course you're no help in the matter."

"I have yet to deduct where you came up with the notion that I have any influence over his decisions. I assure you that has never been the case. You know as well as well as I do he listens to know one but himself. That's why you like him; he takes after you."

Aro's smile turned sour. He clasped his hands behind his back, a sign that he was thinking intently. "True," he said slowly after some time. "Very true. I always felt it was a pity I did not find him first. But. Be that as it may, I still want him. And although I loathe using subversive methods, if he won't come on his own, I fear we will have no choice but to set our sights on his charming girlfriend. Perhaps Lucas would be so kind as to pass along the message."

"Perhaps," Marcus agreed. "but I'm afraid we won't be able to contact him until at least Thursday."

"Oh, yes. I had forgotten. Very well. A few more days can't hurt."


	28. A Few More Days

**A Few More Days**

It was early evening on Friday, the day Malakai disappeared from Alice's sight. Alice tried not to think about it. She pushed the dread out of her stomach and slipped into her new jeans. She had picked it specifically for this evening. Her "date" with Malakai. Jasper didn't much care for that term. Which is precisely the reason Alice used it as often as possible. Not that Malakai knew he was taking her out. Not yet anyway.

Malakai was sitting in his favorite chair in Carlisle's living room, flipping through the latest copy of GQ. Carlisle had given it to him as a peace offering the other day. The apology had taken Malakai by surprise. He accepted it graciously and complained that he hadn't gotten Carlisle anything.

"There's no need," the doctor had said rather hastily.

Naturally, Malakai didn't listen. Carlisle didn't know it but he was getting his present tonight. And it was far better than any magazine. Of course he couldn't take all the credit; it was mostly Esme's doing.

"OK!" Alice announced, floating into the room as daintily as a soft summer's breeze. "I have two tickets to see Kings of Leon tonight, and I need a date. Kai, I nominate you."

Malakai looked up from his article, his dark eyes looking between Alice beaming on one end of the room and Jasper looking sullen at the other. That was the other thing that had changed this week. After a large box appeared on the porch Monday afternoon, courtesy of FedEx, Carlisle had set to work on Malakai's case with the same fervor and interest he had showed on the first day. This time Malakai didn't make a fuss when Carlisle poked him with a needle. He figured he owed Carlisle at least that much. The apheresis worked better than Carlisle could hope and within a few hours of the procedure, Malakai's irises had changed from blue to purple to red. They had grown steadily darker while they waited for Carlisle to bring home fresh blood. He had been unsuccessful thus far. In the days that followed, his skin regained most of its impenetrability, and his speed and agility, among other things, returned.

"Are you sure Jasper's all right with this?" he asked skeptically.

"He doesn't like them," Alice said flippantly, hoping she looked like she was in a hurry. "So how about it? I don't want to be late."

"Well," Malakai mused, "it has been a while since I've been to a concert."

"Fantastic. Then you're coming with me." She motioned for him to hurry up. "We'll take your car."

Malakai looked appalled. "But I'm not dressed."

Alice looked him up and down. "You look fine. Let's go."

"Alice, I would love to, but I really must insist." He set down his magazine and looked at her imploringly. "Five minutes."

She rolled her eyes. "You have two."

Malakai smiled as he turned and darted upstairs. Thirty seconds later he returned, looking exactly the same except for his shoes. He was back in his favorite Converse sneakers. Alice had already gone outside and left the front door open for him. Malakai went looking for her. He found Esme instead.

She was sitting seductively on the hood of his car in the most lustrous mini dress Malakai had ever seen. It was the kind of thing that wasn't meant to be worn very long. With its short skirt and plunging neckline, the deep, sultry gold satin clung to all the right places. and none of the wrong ones.

"Esme, please don't tell me you're waiting for me wearing that. What will Carlisle say?"

Esme laughed beautifully. "Who says Carlisle has to know?"

"You look ravishing," he said, very taken by the sight of her in that bronze cocktail dress. It was sexy. It did marvelous things to her complexion and her eyes practically shone.

Esme allowed him to kiss her hello. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment to me or to you."

"I suppose I do have flawless taste in evening wear, don't I?" His grin unfolded slowly. "Though I doubt you'll be wearing it for most of the evening."

"Think he'll like it?"

"He's not a man if he doesn't."

Alice was suddenly sitting in the driver's seat. "Are you two getting in or am I going to have to drive off without you?" She fired up the engine to prove she wasn't kidding. It purred like a kitten. Rosalie really did know cars. "Five seconds," she warned.

Esme slid gracefully of the hood, opened the passenger door and gave Malakai a gentle nudge. Malakai was momentarily confused. Was Esme coming with them? Where would she sit? His car only had two seats. And what about Carlisle? He still owed him for the magazine. They turned out of the driveway four seconds later, Alice driving, to Malakai's horror, and Malakai in the passenger seat with Esme in his lap. "You're dropping me off at the hospital," Esme explained over the roar of wind as they blazed down the darkening interstate.

"I think that proves it," Emmett said with finality.

"What proves what?" Edward asked, plunking away at the keys at the Steinway in the corner. He found the Jeopardy theme was most suited for this endless checkers match.

"Just what I've been saying all along. That he's gay." He moved another checker to Jasper's side of the board. "King me."

"When are you going to give that up?" Jasper laid a second red token atop the first and carefully assessed his next move. "He's not gay."

"He bought women's clothes."

"For Esme, not himself. You buy things for Rosalie all the time."

Emmett jumped another of Jasper's checkers, tying the score. "That's not the same thing. King me again."

"Why isn't it?" Jasper jumped two of his pieces. Now Emmett had only three left.

Emmett took a moment to consider his next move. "No, you're right," he said as he moved into position. "Anyone who looks at Alice like that is clearly not gay."

Jasper stood up with murder in his eyes.

Edward rose as well. He felt he had to intervene. "Emmett, knock it off. Jasper, ignore him. Can't I leave you two alone for five minutes?"

But the damage had already been done. With each hour Alice stayed away, Jasper became increasingly agitated. It didn't help that Emmett cheerfully reminded him that Alice was probably having more fun without him. It took all of Edward's diplomatic reason to keep Jasper from ripping Emmett's arms off, but as the night wore on it grew more and more difficult.

Around two, just when Jasper's fingers were inching their way around Emmett's neck, Edward's cell phone rang. It was Renesmee.

Emmett and Jasper listened in with rapt attention as Renesmee told Daddy that they were coming home ("they" included Jacob, of course, whom Renesmee was never without). They had been over every inch of South America and were no closer to finding Bella than when they left eight months ago.

"Four down, three to go," Jacob put in optimistically. He was referring to the three continents they had already eliminated. North America, Antarctica, Australia, and now South America. Edward had just hung up when there came a knock at the door, three short insistent raps.


	29. The Arrival

**The Arrival**

_10:56_, the flashing bank sign across the street yelled in angry red lights. _43º_. Four minutes more and Carlisle would be walking out of those automatic doors and Esme would finally be able to give him what she had been holding out on all week. She smiled to herself. It was fun, this game.

Carlisle was none the wiser as he shed his lab coat in the locker room and slid into his coat. Since Malakai's eyes had returned to their natural color, Carlisle had been able to return to his normal hours at work without feeling guilty. He was sure he had solved that mystery during his conversation with Luke over the phone yesterday. He had explained everything, including what he didn't know, and Luke had filled in the holes. The only thing left to do was wait for Luke to stop by so he could test the theory. He fished his keys out of his pocket and paused under the harsh glare of the parking lot lights to unlock his door.

Esme waited, poised in the backseat, didn't breathe or dare bat an eyelash. She was fortunate Carlisle's car smelled enough like her already that he didn't immediately notice her. She waited until just the right moment, just when Carlisle was turning his head to look behind him before he threw the car into reverse, to speak.

"Hello Carlisle."

Carlisle started. "Esme," he said, bewildered, looking again to be sure she was really there. "What . . . what are you doing here?" As if he couldn't guess.

Esme laid one dainty stilettoed foot and then the other on console and wait for Carlisle to remove them. He didn't need to be told. Then in a movement so fast it seemed slow, Esme caught his mouth in hers and, moving just as fluidly into his lap, unfastened his belt. "Would you relax," she said when he hesitated.

"Esme, as thrilled as I am that you're here, I can't get over thinking we're in a parking lot. My parking lot."

Esme smiled impishly. "Kind of exciting isn't it?"

"Less so when I work less than fifty yards away."

She pulled away and sat against the steering wheel. "I suppose it would be awkward if anyone happened to see us."

"We could find another parking lot," he suggested quickly, hoping he hadn't lost his chance yet again.

"I have an even better idea." Esme knew of a park, overrun with juniper bushes and rarely used, along Highway 29. Carlisle cleared his throat.

"Believe it or not, I find it very distracting to drive when your hand's down my pants."

"How distracting, exactly?"

~*~  
The three stopped bickering and looked up, Emmett curious and a little surprised, Jasper suspicious. They looked at Edward and none of them moved. There was only one word on their mind: The Volturi. Edward doubted it. For one, Edward didn't recognize the thoughts swirling through their visitor's head as anyone employed by the likes of Aro. Secondly, their visitor seemed much more concerned with Malakai's whereabouts that anything else.

"Let him in then," Emmett suggested after Edward informed them of this. He then decided, after the second set of urgent knocks, that Edward, who was closest, should open the door.

"Fine," Edward said when the knock came a third time and no one moved. "I'll get it."

Edward had gleaned from Carlisle's memory that Malakai preferred to surround himself with beautiful people, gender be damned, but that didn't prepare him for the genetic perfection that met him on the other side of the door. He had the sort of face that only existed in the glossy pages of fashion magazines―or would have if his perfectly sculpted features hadn't been smeared in three-day-old dirt. It was clear from the man's expression that he had not been expecting anyone at this point, least of all a seventeen-year-old boy, and was just as startled to see Edward as Edward was to see him.

There were several things Edward noticed all at once. The bandage around his left hand, his clothes, and the battered satchel he slung across his broad shoulders were, like his face, a mess. The thin cashmere sweater he wore pushed up to his elbows was frayed and dirty. He had pulled the sleeves down in haste as the door swung open, but that didn't prevent Edward from noticing the the next thing. On his right forearm, roughly the circumference of a baseball, was a tattoo, pale pink, of a star enclosed in a circle. His firm mouth was pulled down in a frown, his blonde eyebrows furrowed over his black-as-night eyes as he said "I'm looking for Malakai," with an accent so faint Edward couldn't place it.

"Sorry, he's out," Edward replied, not liking the way their new visitor smelled.

The thirty-something young man yanked his news cap from his head and ran an enormous hand over his crew cut. "Expect him back soon?"

"You must be Lucas," Edward said and swung the door wide to show Emmett and Jasper the man posed no threat.

_Fantastic_. Luke to an imperceptible step back. _A whole bloody coven. Bloody fantastic._

Edward didn't think much of it. It made sense a friend of Malakai's would be able to recognize a vampire when they saw one. Obviously, Malakai had failed to inform him he was staying with so many. It could frighten anyone. "I'm sure he'll be back within the hour. You can wait inside if you like."

"No, thank you" the man said quickly, as if turning down an invitation to play Russian roulette with the czar himself. "If it's all the same, I'd just as soon wait outside."

It was only after Edward had shut the door and wandered back to the checkers match that he realized the man on the porch was no more a man than the mark on his arm was a tattoo. He was Marked. A werewolf. An actual werewolf―not a shape-shifter like Jacob, but an actual werewolf―was sitting on the front steps eating Twizzlers while he waited for a vampire.

"I called Alice," Jasper informed him when he walked into the kitchen. "She managed to say they were already driving back before she lost the signal."

Edward nodded without hearing.

"What'd that guy want with Malakai?" Emmett asked.

"He didn't say, but I think he's a werewolf."

"What?"

"What makes you say that?" Jasper asked, characteristically skeptical.

Edward told them of the pentagram.

"So what do we do?" Emmett asked, sitting at the kitchen counter. "What are vampires supposed to do with a real werewolf?"

"Kill it," Jasper said simply. "Werewolves are dangerous."

"I don't think Malakai would appreciate coming home to find his friend dead on our porch," Edward said.

"So what do we do?" Emmett asked again.

"Call Carlisle." Carlisle would know what to do. Carlisle always knew what to do.


	30. The Reunion

**The Reunion**

Alice pushed through the pulsing crowd of the night club. Up until about twenty seconds ago she had been having fun. Up until about twenty seconds ago Malakai had been right next to her. But when she had excused herself to take a call from Jasper, he had disappeared. After the concert neither of them wanted to go home right away. They had been throwing away ideas when the group of giggling twenty-somethings in the row ahead of them overheard. They had practically fallen over themselves to be the first to invite Malakai to join them at the club after the show. Malakai never said no to a pretty girl. Alice, on the other hand, had been reluctant to accept. She knew Malakai was hungry and Carlisle had warned her he wouldn't hesitate if an opportunity arose. Alice only agreed after he promised he wouldn't go hunting while they were there. But now he and the redhead he had been dancing with were no where in sight.

"Kai!" She spotted him at the bar with another woman, blonde this time. He leaned in close to her, as if whispering a secret in her ear. The woman laughed. Malakai pulled away when he saw Alice approaching, hands on her hips. She hadn't found him soon enough. His eyes were already beginning to lighten. "Kai!"

Both the vampire and the woman turned to regard the angry pixie. "Alice!" he echoed back at her.

"What are you doing!"

The blonde looked between them and her expression soured. "You didn't say you had a girlfriend," she said, coolly picking up her purse and sliding off the bar stool.

"Wait, darling," Malakai called after her, his accent more pronounced than usual, but to no avail. His meal gone, Malakai turned his cold red eyes on Alice. "Yes?"

"You promised!"

"Now, Alice, she came to me—"

"Never mind, we're leaving."

"Now? But it's hardly two. The club's open for another hour."

"Jasper called. You're friend Luke showed up at the house."

"Lucas!" Malakai got out of his seat in a hurry.

He caught sight of the werewolf dozing on the porch just as the convertible leveled out onto the drive. "Luke!" he yelled in bewilderment and leapt fool-heartedly out of the car before Alice could put it in park. The werewolf jolted awake in time to see Malakai bounding toward him.

"Kai," Luke pleaded, holding up a hand to fend off the exuberant vampire. "Please, don't—"

"Lucas!" Malakai laughed, deliriously happy as he crushed Luke into a spine-popping hug, flinging him around like a rag doll. Luke's repeated protests of "Ow, ow, ow can't breathe you idiot!" did nothing to deter Malakai's enthusiastic greeting. "You could have called!" he said when he set his friend down. "I would have been back earlier."

Luke stumbled out of his reach, clutching his side and hissing in pain. "Dammit Kai! I told you—"

"You're hurt," the vampire realized, his voice filling with worry.

Luke felt tenderly along his left ribs, assessing the damage. Three cracked, one broken. The same ribs he had broken just two days before. "You asshole. You—"

"You should have called."

"I did call," the werewolf grumbled, walking away from him, away from the house. He was nursing a limp. "Several times. You didn't answer."

Malakai followed, looking concerned and trying not to show it. "I must have lost my phone," he said, patting down his pockets. The werewolf turned and looked at him, his expression dead. He reached his good hand into Malakai's jacket and pulled out the Blackberry. It wasn't on. Malakai chuckled meekly.

"Ah, I suppose that explains things." He took the phone, stared at it for a few moments, then tucked it away inside a different pocket. He looked at Luke and smiled. "I see you finally found me. Took you long enough."

"I see your ego has inflated since last I saw you. Honestly, Kai, you could have at least mentioned you were shacking up with a whole battalion of them. I figured one or two, but five?"

"It's nine, actually." The vampire's gleaming red eyes swept over their curious faces peering out of the front window. "I should introduce you."

"You're not listening!"

Malakai reached out and touched the werewolf's cheek. "You should sit down, Luke. You look like hell. When was the last time you ate anything other than Twizzlers?"

Luke's resolve wavered. It would be nice to sit down for a change. . . Luke shook himself out of it. He knew what Malakai was doing. "Kai, I need to have a word with you. In private."

Malakai put up his hands and gestured around them in an exaggerated fashion. "What do you call this?"

"You're right," Luke said. "Absolutely right. Never mind that I traveled half way around the world because I felt you deserved better than a phone call. I'll come back when you're through being an ass. I'm really too tired to put up with your bullshit tonight."

"I'm through, I'm through," the vampire said, making a hasty grab for his friend.

~*~  
Esme smiled contentedly at her husband lying on the frozen ground next to her. He had come a long way since their wedding night. Poor Carlisle had not grown up in a home conducive for healthy sexual development. From an early age he had been taught that his natural curiosity was immoral and wrong. It wasn't that the seventeenth century view of the body and human intimacy were drastically different from any other point in time. It was his father, a widowed preacher, who was to blame. In a misguided mission to spare his son the heartache of lost love, his father implemented a strict regiment of scripture reading and limited social interaction when he turned twelve, putting emphasis on the doom and gloom side. By the time Carlisle turned fourteen, his father had successfully, in Carlisle's words, "scared the sex right out of him."

That type of psychological damage didn't disappear with a marriage certificate. Esme had always silently hated his father for it. It had taken months of patient coaxing and understanding before Carlisle could look at her and want her without feeling ashamed. Months longer still before he became comfortable with foreplay. And it was a year after that before he could talk to her openly about what he wanted in the bedroom. Esme didn't mind. She knew it wasn't his fault. And she knew before she ever said "I do" that he was worth it. And after four short years his sexual appetite had grown perfectly to match hers.

Carlisle sensed he was being watched. He turned toward his wife. "What are you looking so happy about?"

"Oh, nothing," his wife said airily. "Just remembered how much I like you."

He grinned and kissed her for the trillionth time that evening. "I like you, too."

A car rolled by, its headlights catching the bare branches above their heads. When it had passed, Esme leaned in and whispered "Think they miss us yet?"

Carlisle checked his watch. It was half past two. "Not just yet," he said. It had been three hours since Esme held him hostage in his own car, and as far as Carlisle was concerned they had at least another four to go. "You know, we could disappear for the whole weekend. I hear Fiji has beautiful weather this time of year."

"The whole weekend?"

"Or longer, if you prefer."

Esme giggled at the possibility. "How spontaneous of you. I should assault you at work more often."

"You should."

"When all of this is over—"

_beep beep _A sharp muffled chirping interrupted the moment. beep beep Carlisle pretended not to hear. He knew he should have shut off his phone when he had the chance. If it was Malakai, so help him God—_beep beep_ The noise spilled out of the Mercedes and oozed over the dead underbrush, covering the young lovers. _beep beep_

"Think you should get that?"

"Probably," he said, taking no pleasure at the thought of leaving that patch of soft earth. He stepped lithely over the tree they had felled in their passion, his naked flesh untouched by the cold. He found his trousers, still mostly intact, next to what remained of Esme's slip and slid them on. He found his cell phone sitting in the driver's seat. He was surprised to hear Jasper on the other end. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm not sure," Jasper said with trepidation. "Malakai's friend Luke arrived a little while ago. I'm not really sure how to explain the situation over the phone. I think you better come see for yourself. Malakai—oh, he's here now."

"We're on our way."

Esme was already picking up what remained of her clothes when Carlisle turned to tell her their evening was coming to a premature end. She understood. "I'm sorry about the dress," he added sincerely. "Very sorry."


	31. Moose

**Moose**

Malakai walked Luke down the Cullen's sloping backyard to the lake shore, Luke's limp growing more pronounced with each step. Malakai gently sat him down on the very log he and Carlisle had shared last week. He stood over him, like a sentinel might guard a palace gate. Away from the hoard of undead prying eyes, Luke relaxed. For the first time in weeks he felt able to relax. He exhaled a small breath of relief, ever mindful of his broken ribs. He closed his eyes for only a moment and was startled awake

several minutes later to the touch of cool hands on his swollen ankle.

"Geez, Luke. It's like the size of a watermelon—one of those cute seedless ones, but geez. What did you do? Lose a fight with a grizzly? I didn't know Canadian wildlife could be so vicious."

"It was a moose," Luke said, his tired eyes slowly focusing on Malakai's vague shape at his feet, his shoes nowhere in sight.

Malakai started to laugh. "—Oh, you're serious. Oh my. A moose."

Luke's hazy mind flipped through scenes of the past week. "I was nearly turned back," he said, fighting to keep his eyes open. He didn't remember being this tired on the taxi ride here. "I must have wandered too close to somebody's mate because the next thing I know I'm being slammed into the ground with the biggest pair of antlers I'd ever seen. I twisted my ankle trying to get away. It was worse yesterday. Most of it's healed." He looked at his bandaged hand. "I hate moose."

Malakai hid a smile. "You've got to be the worst werewolf . . ."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It _is_ a compliment."

"_Ow_," Luke growled when Malakai accidentally turned his ankle too far. "That _hurts_."

"Maybe we should take you to a doctor. I think it's broken."

"I don't need a doctor. I'll be fine." Luke rummaged through his satchel, only remember after he found the empty packaging that he had already eaten the last of his Twizzlers.

"But—Carlisle!" Malakai was relieved to see the doctor appear around the trunk of an oak. Luke, on the other hand, stiffened, suddenly wide awake. "I thought you'd be half way to Fiji by now."

Carlisle paused mid-step. "How did you—? Never mind. What happened here?"

"Luke was attacked by a moose. This is Carlisle, by the way," he said to Luke, standing up to make formal introductions. "He's a doctor. Carlisle, this is my dear friend Lucas. He's a werewolf. Sort of."

He insisted they shake hands. They did, neither feeling the need to tell him they had already been introduced over the phone.

"Broken ribs?" Carlisle ascertained.

"My fault," Malakai said.

"It's nothing" Luke said, looking not at Carlisle but at Malakai. "They'll heal in a day or two. I'll be fine."

"But you're not fine now," Malakai insisted.

Luke's expression was resigned, his dark eyes glaring. Malakai must have had one hell of a pathetic face because Luke's eyes lost their threat after only a moment. He sighed. He held up his bandaged hand to Carlisle. "It reopened yesterday," he said flatly, hardly glancing at the doctor.

Carlisle took the hand, looking uncertainly at Malakai, and unwrapped the dirty cloth, careful not to pull at the tender flesh beneath. It wasn't a pretty sight. The werewolf's hand was slashed across the palm from pinky to thumb, a deep, puffy, pus-filled, discolored gash.

"Has it been cleaned recently?" Carlisle inquired.

"No," the werewolf said tonelessly.

Carlisle replaced the cloth for now. "Probably an infection. Peroxide and a fresh bandage should do the trick." He wasn't worried about the cut. Once it was freshly dressed, he didn't think it would take more than an hour to heal. Broken ribs, on the other hand. . . "Can I take a look?"

"Be my guest," the werewolf sighed, repressing a shudder from another pair of icy hands on his skin.

Carlisle pulled his hands away, looking troubled. "I'd say a couple of them have shattered, though I'd have to take an X-ray to be sure. Have you had any problems breathing?"

"No."

"Well," the doctor said after a moment, seeing Malakai was unconvinced. "I can tape them for you if you like. It may speed things along."

Luke set his mouth and held back a sigh. Malakai hovered close by, tense, appealing to his friend's better interest with his pitiful eyes. "Will it make you happy?" Luke asked tightly, already knowing the answer. "Will you stop being my mother? One is more than enough, you know."

"No," Malakai said too quickly. "I mean, yes, I do know. Yes. It would make me happy."

"I won't go up to the house," the werewolf qualified, still glowering at Malakai. "It's nothing personal."

Malakai looked to Carlisle, anxious.

"It's no trouble," Carlisle assured them. "It's just as easy to wrap them here."

Malakai was relieved. Luke rolled his eyes at him.

"If there's nothing else. . ." Carlisle began.

"Your ankle," Malakai protested when Luke shook his head.

"I'll bring back some ice," Carlisle promised before another argument flared.

"Thank you, Carlisle," Malakai said quietly as the doctor turned to go.

"It's no trouble."

Malakai watched him go. He sat down on the log next to Luke. "Why can't you be civil for once?" he scolded, whapping his friend affectionately in the back of the head.

"Why can't you mind your own business for once," Luke muttered hotly, staring crossly out at the lake.

"But you are my business, Luke."

Neither of them spoke for a time after that. Luke didn't remember falling asleep, nor did he know how long he slept before he felt, or imagined he felt, familiar fingers tracing the shape of his scar. He opened his eyes and felt the cold on his ankle and cheek. He picked his head off Malakai's shoulder and looked blearily around. "How long have a been asleep?" he asked, noticing the crisp white bandage on his hand and the cold press around his ankle. He felt under his shirt and found his ribs had been wrapped, too.

"About an hour," Malakai said, nodding toward the lightening horizon. "You were asleep when Carlisle came back. I didn't think it was necessary to wake you. Though I am continually amazed at what you can sleep through," he added. "I didn't realize how exhausted you were."

"Neither did I." He rubbed his cheek where it had gone cold against the vampire's shoulder. "You could have woke me."

"I did wake you. Carlisle needed a better angle to tape your ribs so I had you stand up. You looked right at me."

Luke couldn't remember. ". . .I thought I dreamt that."

"Carlisle had some trepidation wrapping them before he got an X-ray," Malakai went on. "I assured him you've shattered ribs before and they've healed just fine on their own. And I knew you would never agree to it."

"Really? An hour ago you acted as if I were going to die."

Malakai chuckled. "A sight over-reaction on my part, I admit."

"You have a lot of those, don't you?"

"I can't help it," Malakai said indignantly. "I've been conditioned. All those years worrying over whether you were alive or dead has made me permanently anxious. It's a wonder I don't have gray hair."

Luke fingered his ribs absently. He hadn't heard a word. "Kai, earlier this week—"

"You're tired, Luke." Malakai knew where this conversation was headed and he didn't want to go there. Not now. Hopefully not ever. "You should get some rest."

Luke stifled a yawn. "Kai—"

Malakai stroked his hair methodically, like a mother might comfort a sick child. "Why don't you go back to sleep, and we'll talk once you can speak coherently, all right?"

Luke felt the energy drain out of him slowly, against his will. He knew it was Malakai's doing. "I hate you," he grumbled, hoping he sounded like he meant it as his eyes closed and his head found its customary place on Malakai's shoulder.

"I love you, too."


	32. Unicorns

**Unicorns**

The sleepy sun stretched its long yellow rays into the colorless sky and peeked its droopy head above the watery horizon where it sat, bathing the western shores of Lake Michigan in soft tranquil light. It seemed content to rest there, as if, like the werewolf, he was too tired to go on. Birds twittered good morning to one another across the canopy and the gentle tide hardly made a sound as it broke against the pebbled beach. It was just another fall morning on the northern coast of Wisconsin.

They sat on the beach for another hour, Malakai absently tracing the pattern burned into his forearm. In the twelve years since they had branded him, Malakai had never stopped blaming himself.

"I never should have left you."

If he had stayed in London that weekend rather than flown to Tokyo, he could have talked Luke out of visiting his parents. Then he wouldn't have blown a tire in the middle of nowhere. Or at the very least Malakai could have gone with him. Then when the tire blew Luke wouldn't have been a sitting duck in the middle of a werewolf turf war. Or maybe they both would have been killed. But death was certainly better than the kind of torture Luke had suffered because of him.

The old doctor sat in his living room and didn't think it right. The leisurely morning seemed in such painful discord to the turbulent night behind them, Carlisle didn't believe it was real—or even possible. He was sure he was dreaming. He must have been more tired than he thought and drifted off in his office. Any second his wife would come to wake him. That seemed much more likely than accepting the scene before him as reality.

Malakai Ross would not invite a werewolf to his house. And he wouldn't let a werewolf sleep on his beach. Not without asking.

"Why don't you invite them inside?" Esme suggested, her mothering instincts overpowering her natural fear. "What if he catches cold?"

"I think a cold is the least of his worries." The poor man—werewolf. . .Luke had three shattered ribs, for Christ's sake. "Besides, he refused my invitation before I could offer it." Though Carlisle didn't openly admit it, he didn't like the idea of the werewolf sleeping outside any more than his wife. It would be easier for Carlisle to look after him if he were staying in the guest room. But Luke had refused and Malakai had done nothing to change his mind. "The thing is," the doctor went on, "I don't understand why he didn't mention his friend was a werewolf before."

"He was probably scared to," Esme said, glancing sympathetically out the window. "Vampires and werewolves haven't exactly been friendly in recent centuries."

"They seem a little more than friendly," Emmett observed, making a crude gestured toward the odd pair. "I mean, first the dress and now this? Why am I the only one who thinks this guy is a blatant homosexual?"

Carlisle slowly turned to his wife. "Wait, Malakai bought you that dress?"

Esme rolled her eyes. "More like offered his opinion on one I had already picked out."

"So he gave you fashion advice?"

Esme shrugged to keep from smiling. "He has flawless taste in evening wear."

He chewed her words over carefully. "True. . ." he said slowly, secretly wishing that had been one thing about him that had changed in the last hundred years. "But—"

"Carlisle, darling," Esme interrupted, "would you please go down and invite them in? It seems cruel to leave them out there."

"If I thought it would do any good—"

"Please? For me?"

Carlisle had to hand it to his wife. She could be very persuasive when she needed to be. "All right. I'll try again."

He could hear them talking about him in low whispers as he made his approach. Or Malakai was, anyway. Carlisle saw as he drew nearer that the werewolf had nodded off again on Malakai's shoulder.

The vampire heard his steps and looked up. He smiled, his bright red eyes alight in the morning rays. "Carlisle," he greeted cordially.

"Malakai."

"Come to join us?"

"I thought I would check his bandages."

"They're still there." Malakai patted the empty space on his other side, gesturing for Carlisle to sit down.

Carlisle sat.

For a long time they watched the sunrise in silence.

"I can't believe you bought Esme clothes," the doctor said.

Malakai grinned. "She looked good, didn't she?"

Carlisle started to shake his head yes before he realized who he was agreeing with. "I'd prefer it if you didn't talk about my wife that way."

Malakai could have laughed. "Is that what you came here to tell me? Because somehow I doubt it."

"He's welcome at the house," the doctor said after some time. "Though I should warn you, you have everyone curious about your friend. Emmett has quite an . . . interesting theory."

"Does it involve unicorns?"

Unicorns? Carlisle didn't understand the question. "No," he said.

"Then he's wrong."

"I'll be sure to tell him that." Carlisle looked at the pair of them, perplexed. He wondered if he should tell Malakai himself or let Luke do it. He cleared his throat. Malakai looked round at him. "Well . . . Alice is glad she finally found out why you kept disappearing," the doctor said, changing his mind at the last second. It would be better if he heard it from Luke.

"How's that?"

"She can't see werewolves."

Malakai glanced curiously at Luke out of the corner of his eye. "Huh," he said. "Interesting."

Carlisle waited another second. He didn't know how to broach the next subject so he came right out with it. "Can I ask what you're doing with a werewolf?"

"No," Malakai said automatically, then changed his mind. "Actually, I take that back. Ask all you want, just don't expect many answers. Lucas and I, we go back—I'm embarrassed to say how long—and he especially has found that most people are unable to understand. I don't know if you remember, but about six, maybe eight years ago, there was an upset—"

"That was Luke?"

"Something like that."

"I don't think I know the whole story."

Malakai got very uncomfortable very quickly. "You know," he said—and Carlisle knew right away he was deflecting, "I think I will take Luke up to the house. Beats sitting on this damn log all day. Could you hold him here a moment while I get up? Just grab his sleeve or something so he doesn't fall over."

Carlisle barely caught Luke's arm before he went tumbling over. "Shouldn't you wake him?" he asked, exasperated.

"Oh, no," Malakai said, feeling no sense of urgency as he took his time inspecting his coat for imaginary dirt. "He won't wake for anything. He once slept through—Anyway, it would be easier to carry him."

Satisfied his clothes were not beyond saving, he kindly thanked Carlisle for his service and in one swift motion had scooped Luke, still fast asleep, into his arms and started up the hill. Carlisle trailed close behind. Malakai took him immediately upstairs to the guest room and laid him under the covers of the freshly made bed. Luke rolled over and sighed but never woke.

"Like a child," Malakai said affectionately, gently removing Luke's shoes and socks. "A very large, unruly child."

Carlisle noted the innate protectiveness in Malakai's movements, his tone of voice and thought it strange. They reminded him, not of friends as Malakai claimed they were, but something more. They were like comrades in war, closer than brothers. Carlisle had seen it on the battlefields and field hospitals of the Civil War, Union and Confederate soldiers alike. Carlisle didn't understand it. War? What war? There wasn't any— "Caius is raising an army." The words jarred in his mind. That better explained why Malakai refused to take Aro's calls. Malakai thought he had hid it so well, but Carlisle wasn't as stupid as Malakai liked to pretend. He figured it out shortly after Malakai lied about that letter. He had chosen not to say anything because. . .because he had never held Malakai responsible for his actions before. Why start now?

The doctor watch with a puzzled eyes as Malakai removed the rest of Luke's clothes. All but his knickers, which were left, not out of common decency for Luke, but because they were remarkably clean compared to his other garments. Had they been as travel-worn as the rest of his things, Malakai wouldn't have hesitated to rip them off as well.

In the light of the room Carlisle could more easily see the horrific scars that covered much of his body. No more than thin white lines, they were hardly visible even to Carlisle's sharp eyes. There were scores of bite marks on his arms and torso, as if a dozen massive jaws had tried to rip him apart all at once. Still more fanged marks pockmarked his sculpted legs.

_Ravaged by wolves_, the headline had said. _Worst animal attack in 83 years._

Malakai caught Carlisle staring and cleared his throat. "Do you mind?"

Carlisle took the hint and waited in the hallway. Malakai was only a few seconds behind, carrying Luke's effects with him. He dumped them in Carlisle's arms, and before the doctor could ask an ill-informed question, Malakai deflected again.

"How did your experiment go?"

"Experiment?"

"Yes," Malakai said, leading the way down the hall to the second floor laundry. "I assume there is a rational, medical explanation why you're storing acid in your desk drawer."

Carlisle followed, not sure why he was still holding Luke's things. "I thought I locked that."

"Not very well." Malakai ushered him into the laundry room then hung back while Carlisle loaded the washer. "So, tell me, learn anything interesting?"

"I haven't had the time to find out," the doctor said, dropping the lid as the wash cycled kicked in.

He didn't bother to tell him he had already eliminated that theory. Even if there was some sort of adverse reaction to mixing LSD with vampire blood, it had no connection to Malakai's previous condition. He was sure of that. Since Malakai had made a full recovery with little help from Carlisle, the doctor had again turned his focus to the how and why Malakai had become "ill" in the first place. He had been reviewing his notes carefully, retracing his steps hoping to find something he missed the first time. Late Thursday night he was looking over Malakai's time-line, the list of places he had visited over the last year when suddenly it hit him. It wasn't the where and when that triggered Malakai's degeneration, but the _who_. Carlisle had mistakenly assumed any contact Malakai had had with humans during his recent travels had been random, variable. But what if it wasn't? What if the who was constant, not variable? It was then that Carlisle borrowed Malakai's phone to make a few calls.

"Well, tell me when you do. I'm curious to know the results."

"Sure," Carlisle agreed, if only to pacify him.

Malakai clapped him on the shoulder as they started downstairs. "Now, tell me, how much do you know about werewolves?"


	33. The Austin Metro

**The Austin Metro**

The whole of Carlisle's family was gathered in the living room, the only room in the spacious home that ever seemed to be used. They sat, all six of them—seven, now that Carlisle joined his wife on the sofa—staring at him. Malakai hovered on the fringe of the room, feeling strangely anxious, almost as anxious as he had the day he stood before Aro's Judicial Assembly eight years ago. He hoped never to relive that day.

~*~  
Not two weeks after he met Rachel in Capetown, he back in Paris, soaking up the local nightlife when who should he see across the bar but Lucas, three years older that Malakai left him and much changed. A week later he was standing before the Volturi interpretation of a Supreme Court, secretly pleading for Luke's life—and his—while the young werewolf slept unawares at his estate in Essex.

The chamber was staged in typical trial fashion, Though night had long since fallen over the Italian countryside, the heavy curtains were drawn over the high-vaulted windows, scorning even the faintest starlight. The head guardsmen, as well as a few loyal coven masters with much to prove, were littered over the marble floor, hidden beneath the hoods of their ceremonial cloaks. All except Felix. He stood alertly at Marcus's side, his hands clasped behind his back, his face marred by curiosity, unable to fathom why anyone. . .

Aro spoke at long last. Cutting through the electric tension that choked the room, he crossed his legs and settled a lazy head in his cupped palm, a fiendish smirk curling his lip. "I hear you've taken in a werewolf," he said, highly amused. "Whatever for?"

Caius twisted in his seat. "Who cares what for!" he hissed, the only thing keeping him from tearing Malakai's throat out himself was Aro's silent raised hand. "Harboring an enemy of—"

"Yes, yes, Caius," Aro cut in dully. "We are well aware. Aiding a werewolf in any regard is considered an act of high treason and is punishable by a slow and agonizing death." He dragged out the words, emphasizing them with a lazy turn of his wrist.

"Please!" Malakai's desperate appeal broke over Aro's ominous foreshadowing. He stood, defenseless and trembling in the center of the gothic chamber, the fear on his face accentuated by the flickering candlelight. "Am I not permitted to defend myself?"

"Defend yourself? How do you propose to do that?" Aro asked, laughing. "He has confessed to all charges, has he not, Marcus?"

Marcus nodded grimly.

"The law says—" Malakai began.

"Don't quote legislature to me!" Aro snapped, the humor gone from his menacing red eyes. "I know perfectly well what the law says. You have given this mutt food, let him into your home, offered him protection—"

"From his own kind!" Malakai cried in his defense.

"Then you admit to harboring a fugitive as well! If this is your idea of defending yourself, dear boy, please, cease and desist."

"Aro," Marcus spoke on his behalf, showing the first sign of interest since the trial began. "He has a right to speak."

Aro looked displeased but, after giving a dramatic show of his deep and bottomless benevolence, consented. "Very well."

Malakai tipped his head toward Marcus in gratitude and looked cautiously round the room. Why Aro made such a show of democracy, Malakai never knew. It was ultimately Aro who would deliver the verdict, not the twelve elders Aro had assembled, nor would it be left to Caius. . . The thought was of little comfort to him. "The law," he said slowly, "says nothing about half-breeds."

~*~  
"Well," the troubled vampire said, pulled back to the present when he remembered he had an audience, "it would seem I owe you all an explanation. Now, before you ask, Emmett, let me start by saying that Luke and I are not gay. We don't sleep together. And we've only had sex once. And I don't think that even counts because we were both more than a little intoxicated— Jesus _Christ_, Emmett!" Malakai cried when he saw the look on Emmett's face "I'm kidding. Get that smug look off your face, you creep. Good god!"

Emmett looked crestfallen, his last hopes dashed upon the stone.

Shaking his head disdainfully, Malakai dropped into the room, finding solace in his favorite chair. "To think. . . No, Luke and I are merely friends. And have been for some time."

"So you're not—"

"No. Never. Now, Edward, you look like you have an intelligent question. Well, go on."

Edward felt everyone suddenly looking at him. "The mark on his arm," he said slowly, "does it mean anything?"

"Does it _mean_ anything?" Malakai was offended by the baseness of the question. "Of course it means something. You don't go burning archaic symbols into your arm just for the hell of it. Yes. That mark means and awful lot to some people. It's who they are, who they belong to."

"Some people?" Alice seemed to be the only one who found his word choice peculiar. "Not Luke?"

He didn't respond right away. "No, not Luke. He despises his situation. He used to be human, you know. Not fifteen years ago he was just another kid in his last semester of college."

"He was bitten?"

Malakai shook his head gravely. "No. _Torn apart_. God knows how he survived. . . You know, besides his flatmate, I was the last one to see him before the attack. We were out celebrating a birthday with his friends the night before and they all got wasted. I ended up driving Luke home. I would have stayed had I not had to fly to Tokyo that morning. . . It was two weeks before I was back in London, and by then Luke wasn't returning my calls. I stopped by Cambridge, hoping to catch him between classes, but his roommate said he hadn't been to a class all week. I suspected something was wrong long before his parents filed a missing persons report."

~*~  
Luke staggered out of bed at three the next afternoon, the night before trickling back to him in hazy bursts. The last thing he remembered was . . . "Kai," he called out to the empty apartment. "You still around?" He shuffled through his rooms, peering behind doors, under beds and in closets, even the freezer. Malakai was not to be found. There was only a handwritten note taped to the bottle of Aspirin in the medicine cabinet: Tokyo for the week. Please try to make it to one class today.

"Too late for that," Luke told the letter as he watched it spin round and round down the toilet. He thought to return to bed when his keys on the kitchen counter jogged his memory. He promised his mother he would visit this weekend. Since he had canceled the last three times, he didn't think a hangover was a good enough excuse.

He was on the road by six and by nine-thirty he was sailing down Brisco Road, twenty kilometers from home, headache gone, The Rolling Stones streaming out the old Austin Metro when his front tire caught a direct hit from a broken bottle. He spun out on the side of the road amid a shower of burnt rubber and sparks, mere centimeters from clipping a tree with the side of his car. Shaken, he shut off the radio and stepped out to assess the damage, thankful the moon was full tonight. He didn't know, as he futilely searched his trunk for a spare, that he was stranded on the dividing line between two of the most territorial and bloodthirsty packs in all of England. Nor did he know, as he cursed his ill luck when he found a jack but no tire, how strongly he smelled of vampire.

~*~  
"The only reason he lived," Malakai said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "was because the farmer down the road saw one of them run through his fields and came rumbling over the hill with his tractor, lights ablaze. The packs ran off, leaving Luke half-dead in the middle of the road. He was rushed to the nearest hospital, but he was losing so much blood the emergency response team didn't think he would make it there alive. He made a full recovery in one week. The doctors had never seen anything like it. He was sent home, healed but unable to remember the attack, the day I returned to London. The day before the next full moon a man approached him while Luke was out walking his mother's dog. He told Luke he knew what had attacked him and then told him, 'You're coming with us.'

"They escorted him to their headquarters and after tying him up, they explained everything. They told him what he was, what they were, what was going to happen to him when the sun set in a few hours. They told him if he didn't belong to a pack before then, he would never change back, or some other ridiculous nonsense. It just wasn't right, they said, for a wolf to be without his pack. A wolf without a pack went mad, they said. They couldn't allow that to happen. Luckily for Luke, their Alpha had very graciously offered him an entry level position, starting immediately, filthy half-breed as he was." He paused. "What they did to him, it was worse than rape. They—I'm sorry. I can't bear . . . Suffice it to say they gave him that scar. They took a white-hot iron and branded him like a head of cattle. It took him four years to escape. One day he just ran. And kept on running for three years until I ran into him outside a pub in Paris."

~*~  
He would never forget that night. He was sitting in La Fontaine trying to snare a snack and having a terrible go at it too because he couldn't help thinking how uncannily the man at the other end of the bar looked like "Lucas!" he shouted, loud enough that half the barre went silent. Malakai didn't notice. He pushed through the crowd, forcing his way toward Luke. "Luke. . ." he trailed off suddenly, frozen in his tracks. They stared, mere feet from one another, for what felt like hours. Then Luke silently paid for his drink and walked brusquely out. Malakai didn't know what else to do but follow.

He hurried out into the misty night, the fog rolling off the Seine masking Rue de Charonne in a ghostly haze. He looked up the street and saw only pretty young French girls, whispering and smoking cigarettes. He looked down the street, peering through the encroaching mist at a pair of lovers walking hand in hand.

"So vampires really do exist," an English voice called across the street. Malakai turned with a start. He hadn't thought to look there. Luke was sitting under the street lamp, waiting for a bus.

Malakai started recklessly across the avenue, thinking no further than he's alive—but the look on Luke's face, the hatred in his eyes and the sneer on his mouth gave him pause. He lost his momentum before he reached the center line.

"I said," Luke repeated, his newly toned arms folding over his newly toned chest, "I guess vampires really do exist."

Malakai wavered, neither confirming or denying. "Cec—Lucas. . ." He took several halting steps forward.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Luke warned him.

"Luke. . ."

"So, are you going to kill me now or what?"

"Kill you! How could I! Don't you remember me? Lucas—!"

"I know who you are."

~*~  
Malakai shook himself of the memory. "He was lucky he got out when he did. Caius's Special Ops forces closed in on that pack not a month after he fled." He looked round at their faces, trying to remember what Edward's question had been. "I'm sorry. You asked about his scar and here I am going on about everything but. The pentagram," he explained, "was the symbol of the pack that claimed him. Since Caius has hunted werewolves to near extinction, packs have become extremely territorial, whereas they were only moderately so before. And not just over land. People, too.

"It's gang warfare at its worst. And, like street gangs, packs tend to have their own identifying mark. They're usually archaic, ancient symbols with religious and occult meanings. They use the Omega, the ankh, even the Star of David and the Cross. The pentagram dates back to Mesopotamia time, but the Pythagorean model, or the Neo-Pythagorean—I can't remember which—is the one they prefer. I think. Whichever it is, the five points of the star represent the five elements: fire, air, wind, fire, and the spirit, or life force. It has something to do with magic and power and whatever other nonsense. They called themselves Theinein, Greek for 'to strike.' There were ten of them, eleven after they recruited Luke. They were the largest pack in England, and because of that they were always under constant attack from rival packs. As a half-breed, Luke was never fully accepted as a member of the pack. He bears their mark, but only to show other clans he wasn't for sale."

"For sale?" Emmett had finally taken an interest in the story. "Why would they sell their own kind. Especially when there are so few of them left?"

"Ah, you see, therein is your answer. Luke isn't their own kind. He was lucky there were so few of them. At earlier times in history, if a half-breed was discovered, he was usually killed. Not that full-blooded werewolves even exist anymore. Caius made damn sure of that."

"How horrible that must have been," Esme murmured, her voice full of emotion.

Malakai said nothing in response. He feared he had said too much already. Luke wouldn't be happy with him when he found out what he had done. He glanced over at Carlisle who Malakai felt was being unusually quiet given the current subject matter. Surely he was just as curious as the others. Before he could speculate further on Carlisle's silence, Alice had another question.

"But you knew him when he was still human?"

He nodded.

"What about after the attack? How did you two manage not to kill each other?"

Malakai chuckled, an embarrassed laugh. "We don't want to get into that, do we?" The truth was, he didn't rightfully know. It just sort of happened. One minute Luke was on the defensive and the next. . .

~*~  
"So what happens now?" Luke asked after a lengthy silence. It had taken four hours for the two of them to get here. Malakai had had to walk half a block north before Luke let him onto "his side" of the road. Then for two long hours Malakai had carefully inched his way to the bus bench. It was long after the last bus had come and gone for the night and they were quite alone on the street that both realized neither meant the other harm. Malakai sunk into the bench with a breath of relief.

"I don't know," the vampire admitted, keeping his eyes fixed resolutely ahead of him. He didn't dare turn and look at Luke, for fear the spell would break and in a second they would be at each other's throats, as they should. "I don't know. . . What does one usually do in these sorts of situations?"

"The hell should I know."

Malakai spoke some options aloud. "I could buy you a drink."

"The pub's closed."

"We could take a stroll in the park."

"I think I'll pass, thanks."

"I'm renting a flat on—"

"No."

"Well then," Malakai frowned, "I suppose our only real option is to get married."

"I suppose."

"Have children."

"Naturally."

"Grandchildren."

"Whatever you say."

"Maybe I'll introduce you to my mother one day."

"Now, let's not get carried away."


	34. Cashmere

**Cashmere**

For a moment, in that strange place between sleep and consciousness, Luke didn't remember where he was. Nestled between crisp warm sheets, Malakai's cool fingers on his cheek, gently coaxing him awake, Luke thought, for a moment, that they were safely tucked away in London, that last week had been no more than a vivid dream. That's why, for a moment, Luke turned over, too comfortable to even crack an eyelid, and muttered "Leave me the hell alone" under his breath.

Malakai pulled back and smiled. "So Sleeping Beauty lives after all," he said too loudly, looking please with himself.

"All right, all right," Luke growled and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He knew he would get no more sleep. "I'm awake. What do you—Where am I?" He was startled to find he wasn't in his own room. The dresser on the wrong wall, the too few windows, the smell of bacon and coffee, the soft feminine humming in the kitchen below. Something told him they weren't in London.

"Wisconsin," Malakai said, sitting back in his chair next to the bed. "North of Algoma. South of . . ." He didn't know what they were south of. ". . .Canada. Sleep well? What? Don't look at me like that. What was I supposed to do? Leave you out there? Alone? What kind of friend would I be if I let you be eaten by rabbits!"

"One who's not an ass, you bastard!" Luke thrust back the covers angrily, as if he intended to get up and leave, but stopped short. He had no place to go. "Goddammit. You can't listen to a word I say, can you! Christ, it's fucking impossible for you."

"Well good morning to you, too, sunshine," Malakai said, making a move for the door. He would come back another time.

"Wait, don't go. I'm not, I didn't mean—It's not just you I'm mad at. It's been a long week—where are my clothes?"

Malakai paused, one hand on the knob, and looked back at Luke. "I had them cleaned. They were filthy. And you know I never pass up an opportunity to undress you." He turned and walked back.

"Listen, Luke, I wanted—"

"What, your own clothes aren't good enough for you? You've been reduced to stealing mine?"

"to tell you—"

"I want them back."

"You'll get them back! Let me finish. Good god. Next time you're in need of medical attention remind me not to get it for you. You should be lucky I didn't draw on your face with Sharpie, you ungrateful—"

"I'd be grateful if you wouldn't keep changing the subject."

"Me change the subject! You're the one—"

"Kai," Luke cut in sharply, grown tired of this senseless bickering. "You had something to say?"

"I did. I do," the vampire said, quickly regaining his composure. "I thought you should know that while you were sleeping everyone kept asking me questions. About you, about us."

"I wasn't aware there was an us."

"You know what I mean."

Unfortunately, Luke did know. "What version?"

"Oh, you know, the glossed over, semi-happy ending version."

"My favorite."

Malakai inched slowly away from the door, drawing closer to Luke. He was almost seated again before he was struck with the thought that Luke might not like what he had to say next. "They asked about your mark."

There was a long pause. "What did you tell them?"

"As little as possible."

"Thank you."

The vampire slumped onto the mattress and shrugged. "You'd do the same for me."

Luke didn't answer. He looked around at the unfamiliar space again and tried not to shudder. The thought of having slept in a house full of vampires. . . "What time is it?"

"A touch after one."

"Sunday?"

"Tuesday."

"What?"

Malakai nodded absently, his rosy eyes fixed on some unseen something, detached from the conversation at hand. "I thought to wake you sooner, but you looked so peaceful. I'm glad you're awake now though. Are you hungry?"

"No." Luke shook his head, though his stomach said otherwise. He got out of bed, walked briskly to the dresser, and wrenched it open before he remembered his clothes weren't there. He turned back around.

"You didn't wash my mobile did you?"

"No, I didn't wash your _cell phone_," the vampire said, watching the werewolf curiously. "What's the matter?" he teased. "Forget to call someone?"

"Nothing," Luke said, snatching up his satchel and rifling through it. All he found were a half-dozen empty packages of licorice. "No one. I mean, no." He turned to Malakai and held out his hand. "Give it to me."

"What makes you think I have it?"

"Kai," Luke warned.

"I would love to, Lucas, darling, but I can't. Not just yet."

"Not yet," Luke repeated blankly. "Then when, might I ask, can I expect— No. Don't answer that. I'm not going to play this game. Give me my mobile, Kai."

"Have breakfast with me, and I'll think about it."

"Breakfast! Kai—!"

"Though I'm afraid you're going to have to shower first. You look like. . . well, there aren't really words. And you smell like wilderness. I don't like it."

Luke was quickly losing his patience. "I'm sorry we can't all smell like a basket of apples all the time like you. Give me my damn—"

"Not until you're presentable. Now," Malakai said, crossing the room majestically and opening the door with a flourish, "Esme and I are the only ones home at present, not including you, of course. Carlisle is on duty for the next couple of hours and then he and his lovely children are meeting numbers eight and nine at the airport and— Look, if you want to be out of here before they return I suggest you quit standing there gawking at me. I put your clothes in the guest bathroom. Right through that door." He motioned over his shoulder. "I imagine you're old enough to operate a shower on your own, but if you want me to stay and—"

"I think I'll manage."

"Good. Esme and I will be in the kitchen. Come down when you're finished."

~*~  
"Dammit," Malakai cursed again, as Esme jumped the last black token on the board. "Esme, that's not fair."

Esme smirked, pleased she had won again. "Checkers not your game?"

He sighed dramatically. "I'm much better at cards. You know, I've never lost a game of poker in my life. Do you play? We could play for Carlisle."

"For Carlisle?" Esme laughed, going to the chest next to the piano in search of a deck. "What could you possibly do with my husband?"

"I don't know," he said, absently twirling a lazy finger around the brim of his frosted wine glass. Carlisle had been kind enough to fetch him more blood, B negative, though Malakai had specifically requested O. B negatives tended to be a bit bitter, like unsweetened chocolate. He had never had a taste for it, and he found that the only way to make it palatable was to freeze it. Esme hadn't been too pleased when he asked to use her good glassware to make blood popsicles, but just as Carlisle warned, it was hard to say no to him. "I thought he might look good on my mantel in Florence."

"Do you think he'll fit?" she said, returning to the table with an unopened deck of cards in her hand. "He's quite tall."

"I think so. They have very high ceilings in Florence."

"Hey, Kai," Luke called from the top of the stairs. "Can I see you for a minute?"

Malakai excused himself from the table and trailed upstairs. Luke was in their room, washed and dressed, with Malakai's suitcase laid open on the bed. "Yes, dear?" he inquired with raised brows.

"Two things—Three things," Luke amended when he turned and saw the look on Malakai's face. "First, this is not _our_ room. It is _a_ room."

"I never said it was our—"

"You were thinking it. Second, don't call me dear. Ever. And third, why do you still have these?" Luke held out the pair of blue houndstooth socks. They were the same pair Malakai had been caught repairing earlier in his visit, though they were starting to look less like socks and more like the tattered leftovers of a patchwork quilt. "These sock are older than I am."

"They were a gift," he said, immediately going on the defensive. "They're not ordinary socks, you know."

"Spare me the gypsy story, please. I've heard it a hundred times."

"They're charmed."

"I said spare me," Luke cut him off. "I don't care."

"In Romania—"

"Shut up."

"There was a gypsy woman—"

"Do you want me to burn them?"

"No!" Malakai wailed, snatching them out of Luke's hands before he could toss them out the open window. He cradled them gently, like a delicate newborn pup, before tucking them safely away among his other things.

"You're neurotic. I hope you know that."

Malakai didn't hear. "Breakfast?" he asked, turning round and smiling at his friend.

"If you'll shut up."

He chuckled. "Now, I think we both know that's highly . . ." he trailed off, distracted by the color of Luke's sweater. It hadn't been red before. "Why are you wearing my shirt?"

Luke looked down at it as if he wondered the same thing. "I figured since you ruined the only one I had I was entitled to one of yours. I don't know how many times I've told you not to wash that sweater."

The vampire was puzzled. "But I wash other cashmere."

"It wasn't other cashmere. I don't want to argue about it. You're buying me a new one when we get back to London."

"Which won't be until after breakfast, right?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "Right."

"Fantastic."

Malakai led the way down the pine steps and through the house to the kitchen, where Esme was occupied setting plates and dishes on the counter, laden with bacon and sausage, pancakes and french toast and eggs, enough to feed a family of ten, and pitchers of orange juice and milk. She looked up as they entered and smiled hello. Malakai saw Luke bite his lip out of the corner of his eye, no doubt wondering if he was expected to eat all of this. Malakai laughed at him. "Esme and I may have gotten a little carried away. It's been a while since either of us cooked for anyone. And I couldn't remember what you liked," he added. "Oh! I'm sorry. I forgot you haven't been formally introduced. Esme, this is Lucas, Luke, this is Carlisle's charming wife Esme."

Luke tipped his head respectfully but couldn't bring himself to shake hands with her. The only other encounter with a female vampire he had had been with Jane, and the experience had been a harrowing one. He had been skiddish around them ever since.

Esme pretended not to notice. She couldn't say she would have acted any different. "Carlisle was sorry he could be here," she said, trying to seem friendly. "He's been worried your ribs might not heal. I hope he was just overreacting."

Malakai clamped Luke on the shoulder and steered him to the other side of the island and forced him onto a stool. "It would be unusual if he wasn't," he said, taking the other stool. "I'm sure Luke's ribs are just lovely, aren't they Luke?"

"Yes, thank you," Luke said, directing his compliments to Esme. "He really didn't have to go to the trouble."

The two vampires shrugged in unison.

"Carlisle always troubles," Malakai said. "Toast?"

"No, thank you."

"Coffee?" Esme offered, fetching a cup from the cupboard.

"Please. No, black is fine, thank you." He accepted the piping hot mug from her graciously. He could at least be polite, he reasoned, even if he was here against his will.

"Eggs?" Malakai tried again. "I laid them myself."

"I bet you did," Luke muttered, sipping his coffee carefully.

"Bacon?" Esme asked. She piled slices on a plate and passed it to him, trying not to smile at their antics.

"Thank you."

Malakai gave up. This was obviously punishment for ruining his sweater. For a time he endured it silently, watching Luke eat his way through eggs and bacon before turning his knife on the unsuspecting pancakes, listening to him make light conversation with Carlisle's wife, seeing Esme laugh at Luke's stale joke—he only knew one. Finally he couldn't take it anymore. "Esme, don't be nice to him. One should never be nice to mean people. They don't deserve it."

"You're one to talk," Luke sneered.

"See. Doesn't he say such awful things?"

Esme smiled sweetly but held her tongue. It was cute the way they antagonized each other, how comfortable they were around one another despite their differences. She almost forgot they were vampire and werewolf.

Malakai cleared his throat. "Esme, I hate to ask since you've been so obliging and this is your kitchen, but—"

"That's fine," she said, knowing what he had to say. "I need to go to the grocery again before Jake and Nessie get back. I suppose you two will be able to manage on your own for a couple of hours?"

"Thank you, Esme, I think we will. I'll make sure he doesn't chew the furniture."

"And vice versa, I'm sure," Esme smiled. "Now, don't worry about the dishes. Help yourself to anything in the house. Except, Kai, stay out of my room this time."

With Esme gone, Malakai turned lazily to Luke. "Read The Times lately?" he asked.

Luke chewed and swallowed before he offered an answer. "I have not. Anything good?" He sipped at his coffee, avoiding Malakai's eye.

"Believe it or not, there was." Malakai picked up a strip of bacon, inspected it, and set it back down. "Imagine my surprise," he said, "when I read that an ex-Green Barret was a prime suspect in a triple homicide in St. Petersburg involving two wanted Russian drug lords and a seemingly innocent bystander."

Luke looked genuinely surprised. "I didn't know Carson was Green Barret."

"Ex," Malakai was quick to correct him. "Any particular reason he thought it necessary to put one in the back of Grigoriy's head?"

"I heard it was two. . . Actually, that's one of the reasons I'm here, but—"

"But it's not exactly talk for the breakfast table," Malakai finished for him. "So please, continue to eat at that sluggish pace. How is it you seem to know more about this than I do?"

Luke ignored him and busied himself with his second helping of hot cakes, meticulously cutting them into identical squares. "I was Carson's one phone call," he said between syrup-drenched bites. "More or less. He says you're welcome, by the way, and expects a ten percent pay raise and month's paid vacation after he's acquitted. Thirty percent if he has to do any jail time."

"Thirty!"

"Only if he has to do jail time. By what he told me they don't have enough evidence to pin the murders on anyone. They're treating him as a witness, despite what the paper says. Carson's very careful when it comes to such things."

"You think I don't know that? Why do you think I snatched him up so quickly after he got out of the service." Malakai shook his head incredulously. He hopped off his stool and began collecting dirty dishes. Luke snatched up the last piece of bacon before Malakai snatched up the plate. "Well don't just sit there," he said. "You're the one who got them dirty."

Luke grudgingly got up. As they were stacking plates and silverware into the rarely-used dishwasher Malakai said "But why kill Grigoriy? The other Russians I understand. If they're the two I'm thinking of, they probably deserved it, the backstabbing bastards. But why Grigoriy? He was a nice young man."

Luke shook his head.

"An honest, good-natured boy."

Luke shook his head.

"Hardly someone warranting Carson's wrath."

Luke stuck his empty coffee mug in the washer and shook his head. "That's you're problem, Kai. You like to think it's impossible for anyone to do anything against you. What with your magical powers and unfailing charm. But Grigoriy—"

Malakai laughed. "You think my charm is unfailing?"

"Don't change the subject. Grigoriy was not nice. He was evil, greedy, and conniving. Carson spotted him during his honeymoon in Tokyo last year. He caught him snooping around one of your offices. Carson kept an eye on him, and when Grigoriy suddenly jumped on a plane to Spain, Carson followed, cutting his honeymoon and his marriage short. I guess he found out Grigoriy has been embezzling money from you for months. Twenty-four million US, I think Carson quoted me. Most of it was coming out of Houston, or San Antonio, or whatever other city is in Texas. He's been using it to supply the Russians with automatics and heroin. If he hadn't left a paper trail, he might have been able to get away with it for another year, but he was never that smart. The Feds were on the verge of opening an investigation when Carson called you to shut the operation down. Actually, he shut it down without your approval, saved you, I don't know, a quarter of a million." Luke watched Malakai struggle over the buttons on the dishwasher and took pity on him. He swatted the vampire's hands away—"You helpless old git."—and started the damn thing himself. "Honestly, the man's bipolar. One minute he's kissing your feet, and the next he's strapping a bomb to them."

"And yet his loyalty is unshakable," Malakai mused, listening to the water whir inside the machine with a childlike fascination. "If I even had a handful of employees with the sort of steadfastness Carson's showed me, hell, the violent outbursts would be worth it. But if Grigoriy was the problem, why kill the other two?"

Luke shrugged. "Don't ask me to explain Carson's psychotic thought process. You're the one who hired him without a full psychiatric history. Anyway, Kai, I'd like my cell phone now. And you will give it to me immediately, or I will be forced to leave you and you'll never hear about Rachel."

"What about Rachel?"

"I can't tell you until you give me my mobile."

Malakai searched his pockets until he found it. "What about Rachel?"

"Go out and look in the bushes around that giant oak in the drive," Luke said, searching through his contacts for the right number.

"Why? Did Carson shoot her, too? Am I going to find her mangled corpse? Because—"

"Look and you'll find out, won't you? Just give me a minute, I'll be right out. Don't be juvenile, just go."

"Juvenile," Malakai muttered darkly as he trudged sullenly out of the house.


	35. Licorice

**Licorice**  
_Lucas_

I watched him sulk off, shaking my head after him. That man—if you could call him that—was something else. Truly a piece of work if ever there was one, and that was precisely the reason why I could never keep a girlfriend. Things would be going well for three months, six months, eight months, until I introduced them to Malakai. He did it on purpose, coming off as charming and suave then systematically dismantling all my hard work in a single dinner. It was like he was determined to keep me for himself. And then he had the nerve to ask why I didn't introduce him sooner. The only reason I had been able to keep Annabell—who wasn't picking up—for a year and a half now was because Kai knew nothing about her. As far as he knew I wasn't dating anyone. And she knew nothing about him, thank God.

I got her voicemail. I checked the time. She was probably flying over Italy now that I thought about it. I decided not to leave a message.

I didn't want to go outside. I didn't want to stay in the house, either. It smelled too strongly of vampire. But I especially didn't want to go outside. I had been envisioning this "reunion" for weeks, had it all laid out in crisp black and white: I would be in London, enjoying a quiet evening at home with Annabell when the telephone would ring. It would be Malakai, and he would be beside himself with grief. He would want to see me, and I, being the good friend I was, would pack my things, get on a plane, and fly to whatever obscure island he was wasting away on. Because let's face it. I never expected to see him again, at least not alive. Then, when I landed in the dead of night and the villa was alight with the flicker of a single flame, I would find Malakai curled in a corner, his youth gone, his skin creased and cracked, his dead eyes sallow and haunting, his beautiful hair gone sickly white. Like something out of Dorian Gray. "I'm dying," he would say to me in a wheezing, hoarse cough. And I knew, as his eyes closed for the final time, and his chest failed to rise, that it had been my fault.

My curiosity had killed him.

I put my mobile away and watched him from the front porch, trying to rebuild the courage I had found on the first night. He didn't look sick. He looked perfectly fine. He always looked perfectly fine. So sure, so confident, like it was his job. I suppose maybe it was his job. He was just so, so . . . full of himself that he couldn't see the truth if it stripped naked and lit itself on fire. This blindness had cost him more girlfriends than I could count. It had almost cost us our friendship on more than one occasion. Just like the time, what was it, three years ago? Hell, it might already be four. What I didn't understand was why. Why had I picked that night to get plastered—who was I kidding, I was drunk every night back then—or why Malakai had picked that particular night to show up unannounced, or why he could never introduce me after that without saying "This is Luke. We've had sex." And the scariest part is I can't remember any of it. I quit drinking the next morning. Kai couldn't have been more oblivious. He thought I had stopped all the self-loathing and finally accepted what I was. I never corrected him.

I took an uneasy step off the porch and strode out toward the oak tree, the gravel churning under my feet. Malakai had found the thing hiding in the bushes and was sitting cross-legged in the grass, holding it in his lap. I crunched to a halt.

"You brought me my guitar," he whispered, unable to take his eyes from it. His fingers brushed affectionately over its worn mahogany finish, the faded signature of _Elvis Presley, with love._

"I did," I said, looking off into the trees.

"I thought I had lost it."

"Well, I found it."

"I've missed it."

"I know," I said. "But that's not why I brought it. I only hoped it might distract you from what I have to say. Jesus, no need to get so emotional about it." I hated when he was emotional. "Kai, Malakai, are you crying?"

Malakai swiped at his bloody eyes, saw the glistening red tears on his fingers and sighed. "Yes."

I stared. "I didn't know you could do that." I dropped to my knees for a closer look, studying him like a botanist might study a rare and delicate flower. I shook my head incredulously and sat back on the grass. "You're ridiculous."

Malakai pulled a face. "You knew that when you married me."

"And tried to forget it after we got divorced," I said in a rehearsed tone. I had the words memorized.

Malakai dabbed at his eyes. "It's fortunate we've stayed such good friends. For the children's sake."

"Yeah. . ." I stood up abruptly and paced away. Why I let this bizarre role-play play out as long as it did, I never knew. It was funny, I suppose. Sometimes. Most of the times it was tiresome, and annoying, and easily recognized as Malakai's attempt to distract from the topic at hand. It might have worked any other day, but I had a promise to keep to Rachel. And Felix. And myself. Kai was going to hear what I had to say whether he liked it or not. I suppressed a sigh. Why did I have to run out of licorice today of all days? After I had given up the liquor, I needed something to quell the anxiety.

I stopped pacing and looked at him.

He looked at me.

I cleared my throat.

"You going to play me a song or what?"

"Is that what you do with a guitar?" Malakai laughed, his spirits already lifting. He set to work tuning it and when he was satisfied, he began picking out the opening bars of "Little Less Conversation," a favorite of his.

"Actually, Kai," I said over the twanging, "speaking of children." I stopped. Now didn't seem like the right time. "Actually, never mind. I have a question."

"Anything, my dear Lucas," Malakai smiled happily, plucking away at the strings.

"Why did you leave?"

He looked up but kept playing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean last February in London. I woke up and you were gone. Why?" I could have answered the question myself. I had a pretty good idea why, but I needed to hear it from him.

He shrugged and played it off like it was nothing. "Aren't I always?"

"Yes, but you didn't leave a note. Or call. For over a month. A month, Kai. What were you doing that you couldn't pick up a telephone?"

He shrugged again.

"I mean, if you wanted a break you could have said so. If I knew you wanted to spend time with some of your own kind, I would have pushed you out the door. I didn't know you had any vampire friends."

He barked with laughter. "That hurts, Luke. Carlisle and I have a long history together, I'll have you know."

"Why didn't you call?" I asked again.

"Because I didn't feel like it."

I didn't buy it. "Why didn't you call?"

"Because I forgot."

"Why didn't you call?"

"Because I didn't think you'd miss me," he said.

"Why—"

"Jesus, Luke! How many times are you going to ask the same question!"

"As many as it takes for you to answer it honestly. Do you know what that means, Kai? Honestly."

Malakai stopped playing. He set it at his feet and stood up. "I think I'd like a walk."

~*~  
_Carlisle_

I have only ever loved two things in my life: medicine and Esme—and not necessarily in that order. And I considered myself fortunate I was able to have both in my life, but recently I have discovered there is a third thing, something I didn't know I would miss.

Quiet.

How I wished I could rewind the last two weeks, freeze the moment when Malakai asked for his help—No. Further back than that. I wished Malakai had never bothered me at work, never walked into the hospital, never found our address, never drove to Forks, never thought to look me up, never gotten sick. If I had the power to change one event in history, if I could stop one action, it would be a year ago in London. I would get rid of that bag of blood. Or drink it myself if I had to. Something. Anything. Anything that would have prevented Malakai infiltrating my house, wooing my wife, dividing my family, and opening his obnoxious mouth.

I could have said no. Esme had reminded me of that more than once. So why hadn't I? Why didn't I now? "Because you love me," Malakai's voice laughed in my head. "Because everybody loves me."

"And hates themselves for it," I muttered to the empty break room.

"Paging Dr. Cullen," a soft voice called from the doorway, breaking my destructive train of thought.

I looked up. "Esme," I said, startled. "What are you doing here? Is something the matter?"

"I don't think so," she said, floating into the room. "Kai wanted to talk to Luke privately. I thought I would see if you wanted to clock out early."

"You left them alone?"

~*~  
_Esme_

I didn't understand why he was in such a hurry to get home. Carlisle parked beside Malakai's tiny toy of a car and we both stepped out. Two things seemed out of the ordinary:

There was the front door, pushed gently open by the wind. And then there was the overwhelming lack of noise coming from inside. Not a laugh, not a yell, not even a whisper.

"Do you suppose they've gone to the lake?" I asked, trying to sound casual despite the growing dread in my stomach.

Our ears pricked. Carlisle turned sharply to the north. I was sure I had heard Malakai just now, far off and in pain. Or perhaps it was Lucas. "I think they're this way," he said.

We cut off diagonally through the wood. The scent of werewolf, pine mixed with old dirt and spoiled blood, and the faintest hints of the old human flavor, licorice perhaps, wafted stronger as we crunched noiselessly over the brittle foliage. We heard them before we saw them.

"I won't," we heard in the distance in a voice that was unmistakeably Malakai. "I won't and you can't make me."

"Kai," Luke pleaded, "come down from there."

There was a pause.

"No."

"Kai, please don't make me come up there. You know I don't like heights. Come down."

Kai laughed bitterly. "Fat chance. You've broken my heart more than enough today. I won't hear any more."

"Dammit, Kai. Would you please just come down and _talk_ to him!"

"_You_ talk to him," Malakai called down from his perch. "From what I hear you two are quite close these days."

I clutched Carlisle's hand as we crested a small hill and saw down into the shallow valley. Luke was standing under an old pine, neck craned, trying to coax Malakai out of it. Malakai was pouting on a precarious bough some three and a half stories up. He childishly plucked pine needles off the adjacent branches, like a schoolgirl pulls petals off a daisy, and hurled them at the ground one after the other. He was no doubt hoping to hit Luke with them, poke out an eye, but the wind almost always blew them off course. He didn't seem to notice he had company.

"Oh my," I breathed. "Do you suppose they've had a fight?"

Luke's head snapped around, startled to see us. "Kai," he said, turning back and redoubling his efforts. "You're being unreasonable. It's only a phone call. Come down. It's hard to talk to you when you're up there."

"I would _prefer not to_."

"_Fine_," the exasperated werewolf spat. "If you won't, I will. And I'll be sure to tell them exactly where you are, who you're with, and what you've been doing."

There was a heated silence. Malakai peered anxiously at the ground. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"But Luke—"

"You have three seconds."

"But Lucas!"

"Two."

"You wouldn't."

"One."

"Now, Luke, let's talk about this—"

I watched, frozen, as Luke fished his phone from his pocket. "Zero," he said as he pretended to punch numbers. "Sorry Kai. I warned you, and now I'm afraid—Hi. This is Lucas Brown. I'm calling for—"

Kai dropped to the ground without a sound. "Don't you dare," he commanded, wiping pine sap on his jeans as he stalked toward Luke. "Or I will fucking break your arm again."

Luke looked pleased he had won. "I'm sorry," he said to the phone, "I have Malakai Ross on the line. Thank you."

Kai held out his hand, glaring daggers at Luke. "I hate you," he mouthed as he pressed it to his ear, not realizing it wasn't on. It was then that he had an opportunity to notice us standing on the fringe of the small clearing. He dropped the phone at once. "How long have you two been standing there?"


	36. The Curse

**The Curse**

Malakai paced this way and that, working himself into a near-panic when Luke saw him tug at his ear, a telltale sign he had been keeping secrets.

"They don't know." Luke was dumbstruck. "You've been here two weeks and they don't know!"

"I've been working on it!" he snapped.

"You're doing a brilliant job of it."

"Tell us what?" Esme spoke up nervously.

The werewolf looked piteous and nearly apologetic. Clearly, Malakai did this sort of thing often, and from the look on his face, Luke was the only one who ever felt any remorse. Malakai looked, not apologetic but worried, not for their sake but for his.

"You see," Malakai began. "The thing is—Oh dammit, Luke, can't you tell them? I'm getting all tongue-tied."

"Is it very bad?" Esme asked, clutching Carlisle for support. Carlisle guessed this had something to do with the Volturi. He'd been wondering when Malakai would get around to telling them.

He looked meekly at the ground. "I don't know. That's why I haven't brought it up before." Truth be told, he hoped ignoring it would make it go away. He turned pleadingly to his friend. Don't make me do it, his sad eyes said. Carlisle knew the look well. The pout on his lips and the subtle sadness in his brow. It was the face no one had ever said no to. It was the face Luke had slowly been building up a tolerance to these last eight years. There was a moment, as Luke tore his gaze from his friend, where he felt he could have said no, but just as it slithered into reach, it disappeared in a puff of smoke. "All right, all right," Luke muttered sullenly. "Stop it already."

Malakai's face brightened instantly.

"The thing is," Luke took up where Malakai left off, "for the last few months, the Volturi have been trying to get there hands—" he thrust a thumb at Malakai— "on him."

Esme was alarmed. "Whatever for?"

Luke shrugged. "Who knows. They never say. But I think it's safe to assume Aro wants him for their quote unquote _army_."

Esme turned her concerned eyes on Malakai. "Can't you refuse?"

"Believe me, Esme, I've tried."

"Legally he can't," Luke explained. "It breaks the terms of his contract."

"Contract?"

"How else do you think I got them to leave Luke alive?" Malakai said bitterly. "I sold my soul to save his. Again."

"Which I never asked you to do in the first place," Luke snapped back, feeling Malakai was trying to make this his fault.

"You didn't have to," the vampire growled through half-gritted teeth.

There was a heated pause.

"Lucky for me," Luke said, returning to the conversation at hand, "one of them convinced the other two—"

"Marcus. The other two don't have a lick of reasoning."

"—that it would do their cause more harm than good to kill me outright."

"They've been threatening to kill him for years. But you know how Aro is. His whims are as fleeting as summer love, and just as gruesome. If I ever thought Luke was in any real or immediate danger, I of course would have flown out right away. Not that I would ever agree to aiding Caius's demented cause. Even if they agreed to let Luke live, I'd be forced to kill off others of his kind."

"_Who's_ kind?"

"Your—Ah, I didn't mean—I just meant other werewolves. Don't get so touchy. I'm not doing it. I won't."

"But Aro isn't taking no for an answer. They're after his gift."

"Gift?" It was the first time Carlisle was able to get a word into the conversation.

Malakai and Luke looked at each other. They looked at the doctor. "There's a reason people don't say no to me," the vampire said, and paused for effect before launch into a lengthy and rehearsed speech about his peculiar power of persuasion. By the end of it, Carlisle was standing by with slacken jaw.

"It all makes sense. . ."

Malakai laughed sheepishly. "Yes, well, if it helps, I wasn't aware I had a gift until 1892. Before that I just assumed people enjoyed being nice to me."

"You can imagine the amount of psychological damage he suffered when he found out it was all a ruse," Luke broke in, bordering on sarcastic.

"It was traumatic," Malakai agreed, missing the rub. "I finally saw my relationships, both in my professional and personal life, were a lie. They only existed because I wanted them to. I nearly died from shock."

The werewolf rolled his eyes. "Shock? The only shock you felt was when you realized what this meant for your pocketbook."

"Stock prices went through the roof," Malakai recounted wistfully before he caught sight of Carlisle's face. "Don't look so bewildered, Carlisle. I have to make a living somehow."

Carlisle's mind was fixed on something else. "Is that why Cecil— I mean, did you—"

"Ruin his life?" Malakai's gaze skirted to Luke. "I don't know. I try not to think about it. Anyway." He made it a point to look at Esme. "I should have told you sooner. And I'm sorry I didn't."

~*~  
A half hour later Malakai was packing his things into his MGB against Esme's pleas that he stay.

"No," he said, tucking his guitar securely atop his suitcase. "I think I've overstayed my welcome as it is. We should go. Besides, I don't want to get you involved."

"More so than we already are?" Carlisle asked.

"Listen, Kai," Luke said, stepping in before Malakai said something he would regret. He glanced at Carlisle. "Do you think you could give us a minute?"

"Certainly," Carlisle said, and he disappeared into the house alongside Esme.

Luke waited for Malakai to acknowledge his presence. "Kai—"

"What, Luke, what!" Malakai snapped, slamming the trunk.

The werewolf leveled the vampire with a look. "Why don't we go for a drive?"

~*~  
"There's something I haven't told you."

The candy apple red car sat on the side of a dead end dirt road, alone, and surrounded by hundreds of dead ash and one sickly spruce, doubled over on itself as if in agonizing pain. The perfect place, Luke thought bitterly.

"Something about what other Volturi members you're sleeping with?"

"I haven't—!" Luke exploded, but he didn't see the point. Suddenly the cabin felt cramped. He didn't want to be so close to Malakai when the news hit. There was no telling how he would react. Wrenching open his door, he jumped out as quickly as he could. "No," he said when he felt he had gone far enough. "Something about Rachel."

Malakai watched Luke pace this way and that from behind the steering wheel, wondering what could be so important that they had to drive deeper into the middle of nowhere for Luke to say it. "Will I like it?"

"Probably not."

"Then why tell me!"

"Because you need to hear it, Kai."

"Is she dead?"

"No."

"Has she been kidnapped?"

"No! Stop guessing."

"Then I don't care!" he wailed. Truly, he had searched the depths of his soul thoroughly and any semblance of feeling he had for her was gone, if there had been any in the first place.

"What do you mean you don't care? She's your girlfriend of eight years! She's the reason—"

"I know what she is!" Malakai cried. "I don't care anymore."

Luke paused in his pacing. He looked up, suddenly hopefully. "Wait, you already broke it off with her. Did she phone and tell you herself?"

"Tell me what? I haven't talked to her in ages. I stopped by a couple months ago when I was in the Chicago last, but she wasn't home."

"That wasn't my question. Have you already broken up with her?"

"Not exactly."

"So, technically you're still together?"

"Does it really look like it, Luke?"

Luke was relieved. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all. "Then I might as well just tell you."

"Might as well."

"You see, Kai, Rachel. . .well, she's pregnant." A horrible silence followed. Luke thought maybe he hadn't heard. "Kai, Rachel's—"

"How is that poss—?" He stopped cold. He knew how it was possible. But he hadn't—

"Jesus _Christ_, Kai, it isn't _yours_! Daniel wanted to tell you himself, face-to-face. I convinced him he would be a better father if he were alive."

"_Daniel_," the vampire echoed. "She's having an affair with my accountant." His mind reeled. "I can't. . . I don't—How long?"

"I don't know. She's almost six months. A year maybe? Why are you acting so calm about this?"

"I'm waiting for you to tell me you're joking."

"I wish I was." Luke looked away, not sure how to continue. Perhaps he should have approached the subject with a little more tact, come to think of it. He chanced a glance at Malakai to see if he was still breathing. He was, in a pained yet strangely liberated way. "Kai," Luke ventured, taking a few concerned steps toward him. "Kai. Say something. Are you all right?"

Malakai shook his head.

"Do you want to know what I think?"

He shook his head.

Luke told him anyway. "Honestly, Kai, I never thought you and Rachel would last as long as you did."

"Thank you?"

"I mean it as a compliment, Kai. You two were good together, but I always thought you were crazy if you thought it was going to turn into anything serious. I think Rachel kept waiting for you to change her, and you kept waiting for the right time—which was never going to come—and I think in the last couple years she realized she was grateful for it. She liked you because you were dangerous and mysterious, and you were infatuated with her because she was the first woman you met who was immune to your charm."

"You make me sound so shallow."

"Admit you didn't like her just a little bit more when she told you to piss off."

The vampire almost smiled.

"Consider it a learning experience and move on. You'll both be the better for it. Kai," Luke urged when the smile faded from his friend's face. "Don't worry. You'll find another girlfriend."

"I don't think I want another girlfriend, Luke. I can never keep them. They're always leaving, or if they don't leave, they die. And I can never tell if what they feel toward me is genuine or a product of my own selfish fancy. I can never tell if anything is real." He leaned his head against the steering wheel and sighed. At times his gift felt more like a curse. "I just want to go home. Go home and forget all this."

Luke paced back to the car, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, slinking back like a dog to his master, tail between his legs. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. I've ruined everything haven't I?"

"No," Malakai said softly. "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you told me. And you're right; I should have ended things sooner."

For a long time neither man said a word.

"Listen, about Felix. . ."

"No, I'll talk to him. Just let me say goodbye to Esme at least. Then we can leave this place for good."


	37. Toast

**Toast**

It was not to be. In the time it took Malakai to drive thirty miles to find a decent diner,the waitress to stop gawking and tuck them away in a cramped corner, and Luke to swallow three cheeseburgers, a liter of Pepsi and two orders of french fries—no ketchup—not to mention the time it took to find a convenience store in this little town of Nowhere (which didn't even show up on the GPS) that stocked more than one bag of Twizzlers, and then drive back to Carlisle's humble abode, the sun was setting and the whole of the Cullen clan was clustered in the living room.

"It was like pulling teeth!" Malakai complained as he let himself in.

"It wasn't that bad," Luke said, stepping over the threshold of his own accord this time.

"It was clo—ose." He was startled to see a room full of anxious faces staring them down. "Hello," he said, eying two unfamiliar figures. "Are we late for something?"

Luke grabbed for Malakai's arm when he moved toward the pretty new girl. He didn't like the way the other boy smelled. Jacob reached the same conclusion about Luke in the same instant and sprang up from the couch.

Carlisle was quick to step in. "Ah, Jacob," he said, touching the boy's shoulder, "Renesmee, this is—" he searched for an appropriate adjective to describe Malakai, but couldn't quite bring himself to call him a friend— "Malakai, and his friend, Luke. Kai, Luke, this is Jacob, and Edward's daughter Renesmee."

Malakai shrugged out of Luke's grasp and glided into the room. He wanted to meet the tantalizingly human girl attached at Jacob's hip.

Renesmee had blossomed—perhaps burst was a more appropriate word—into a stunning young woman. Eternally twenty-five, she stood at five-foot-six, her long dark curls spilling over her porcelain cheeks, her eyes the color of—

"Kai." Luke's strained plea shattered the moment. "I thought we were leaving."

"Leaving?" Malakai said as if the thought had never crossed his mind. "But, Luke, darling, we've only just arrived." He seemed about the only one who didn't notice Luke's unease.

Jasper took pity and tried to diffuse some of the tension. But that didn't stop Jacob from approaching him in as intimidating a way as he could.

"Edward tells me you're a werewolf."

Luke, who had no idea which vampire was Edward, assumed he was the tortured-looking one come to play referee. "Yes." He didn't like this kid already.

"I've never met a real one before."

Luke stared at him a moment. "Ah," he said. "That explains the smell."

Something flashed in Jacob's eye.

"Jake," Edward warned, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Luke took a step back, his hands held up non-threateningly. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant it was different."

Jake's anger quickly turned to curiosity. "What's that on your arm?"

Luke snapped down his sleeve. "Nothing. Excuse me." He skirted around the pretender, and placed himself at Malakai's side, waiting to be introduced so he could say a few polite things and they could be on their way. Esme stepped up to him and offered him a drink. A glass of brandy, perhaps? "Water's fine, thank you." Malakai had just turned to him and opened his mouth when out of Edward's came the question that would keep them there till morning:

"Since when does Malakai have a gift?"

Nine pairs of eyes swiveled in his general direction. Five were surprised, two were merely curious to hear what he would say this time, and two didn't understand what the fuss was about but looked because everyone else was. Luke made it a point to avert his gaze.

"Not nearly as useful as reading minds or seeing the future," he said humbly, pleased with the sudden attention. He had been missing it ever since his eyes had stopped being blue. Carlisle cleared his throat and ushered them into the living room. It was remarkable how easily everyone found their usual place. Except Lucas, who had no place and was forced to sit awkwardly next to Malakai on the couch. "It's hardly worth the effort sometimes," Malakai continued, his red eyes drifting to Luke. "I'm a manipulator, like Jasper."

"You're an empath?" Alice asked.

Luke snorted. "That'll be the day."

Malakai threw him a look. "Not exactly."

"Not at all."

Malakai whapped him in the stomach. "Shut up and let me talk." He looked back at Alice. "No, I don't manipulate emotions. I manipulate trust."

"Trust?"

"Yes. For whatever reason people have always found me trustworthy. I've no idea why."

"It's because you're just so gosh darn good-looking," Luke said, the sarcasm dripping off his words like a monsoon in India.

Malakai smiled kindly at the werewolf. "Is that was keeps you around, Luke? My good looks? Oh wait, I think we've already established you find me attractive."

"Yes, everyone knows you're perfect." Luke waved him to get on with it.

There was a faint smile on his lips as Malakai returned to the story at hand. "Anyway, the gist of it is, I can get anyone to do or believe anything I want. I've been doing it to Carlisle for years and he's never once questioned me."

Carlisle's expression remained unchanged.

"What do you mean by anything?" Alice pressed.

"I mean exactly that. There was one instance where I made a man believe he had died and come back as a ghost. He walked around town for three days like no one could see or hear him. It was the funniest thing. . ."

"How does it work?" Rosalie asked, pulling him back before he went off on another story. "Can you show us?"

"A demonstration? I suppose I could do that." His sharp red eyes combed the room for a suitable target. "Luke, darling."

Luke's efforts to pretend he wasn't in the room proved unsuccessful. He had tuned out the second half of the conversation, focusing instead on making the water in his glass disappear. He had nearly succeeded when he was unwillingly called back. "What?"

"Lucas," Malakai said again, touching Luke's shoulder to get the werewolf to look at him.

"What, Kai, what?" Luke looked, if only to save himself from being beaten if he didn't. He broke his gaze at once. The look on Malakai's face said it all. "No."

Too late. Malakai had hold of Luke's chin. He forced Luke to look at him. "Now, Lucas," he scolded playfully.

"Kai, please." He tried to pull away. He looked horribly uncomfortable. "I don't want to. Use someone else."

"Luke, relax. I have another example in mind."

Luke stopped struggling against him. He looked skeptical for a moment, like he almost believed him, and then scowled. "You're such a liar."

"Trust me," Malakai said. The scowl dropped from Luke's face, though he still looked on edge. Malakai waited another moment before relinquishing his hold on the werewolf. "Lucas, your toast is burning." He addressed him in the same tone he always used, but perhaps with just a hint more charm. Carlisle recognized the voice; he knew it well.

"Toast?" Luke didn't look like he knew what Malakai was talking about.

"In the kitchen." He pointed a lazy finger.

The confusion spread over Luke's face as he turned and looked. "But I didn't—"

"You did. You wanted toast and I told you no but you went ahead and made some anyway. Because really, when was the last time you ever listened to me?"

Luke looked like he didn't know what to do.

"It may not be too late to save it," Malakai encouraged.

Luke got up uncertainly and walked hesitantly toward the kitchen. Halfway there he stopped and turned around. "I don't think—"

"You're toast is burning, Luke. What if you burn the house down? Where will I be if you die?"

Luke narrowed his eyes and stalked into the kitchen, muttering under his breath. There were a few moments of clatter as Luke no doubt searched for a toaster that didn't exist. That was quickly replaced by two or three seconds of silence followed by a loud "Dammit Kai!" as Luke stalked back into the living room.

Malakai looked as innocent as the Pope.

"Burning toast?" Luke was more than a little embarrassed. "Really? You couldn't think of anything better? You're such an ass." He took up his seat at the extreme end of the couch, as far away from Malakai as he could manage. "If you're through humiliating me I think I'll go drown myself now."

Malakai shrugged dismissively. "The lake's out back."

"So it's all just a lie?"

Malakai wasn't surprised to hear Edward ask. "Isn't that what all manipulations are?"

"How long can you manipulate someone?"

He had to think about it. "I don't know. As long as it takes to accomplish my purpose, I suppose. It has never not worked on someone. Even that lie-detecting one, whatshername."

"Maggie."

"Yes, her. I told her, well, something absurd and she believed it. As you can no doubt see, Lucas has built up something of a tolerance. He seems to be about the only one."

Luke was too busy booking flight tickets on his phone to notice the looks he was getting. Why Malakai couldn't have called Esme from the airport was beyond him. He could only hope first class tickets on the next available flight out of Green Bay would encourage Malakai to wrap it up. And if that didn't work, he always had Felix on speed dial. "Speak of the devil," he muttered when his caller ID flared up. He passed it to Malakai. "I think you better take this."

~*~  
"Aro." Marcus came gliding into the room, his frown deeper than usual. "Felix is looking for you."

"I sorely hope he has good news this time."

"He didn't say."

Aro sighed. "Send him in."

Felix strode in with a bigger-than-usual grin on his face. "You'll never guess who I have on the phone."

~*~  
"Aro!" Malakai greeted with fake enthusiasm. "To what do I owe the honor? It better be damn good if you had to interrupt my holiday, you know. No shit, really? A present?" He walked out of the room, chuckling nervously. "No, the only way I'll even think about coming back is if you bought me France. Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck— Better than France? Aro, the only thing better than France would be a girl and—Did you really? Who is she?" All ears tuned in. "What do you mean you won't tell me her name?"

When Malakai finally hung up and returned to the living room, everyone was watching him. They were all thinking the same thing, but it was Edward, his dark eyes smoldering under his thick lashes, who said it aloud.

"You can save her." he said, his voice no more than a whispered prayer. "You can bring her home."


	38. The Complication

**The Complication**  
_Malakai_

I searched his pitiful eyes, my own growing wide in horror. "You don't know what you're asking," I choked, horrified. "I, I . . . can't." I felt trapped. My insides wrenched this way and that, trying to escape what my skin could not. I was frozen, a deer in headlights. No, a lamb being dragged to slaughter. There was no way out. There couldn't be. Not with everyone looking so . . . what was that look on their faces? Was it hope? No, it was too manic to be hope, there was nothing hopeful about it. It was the look of a pride of lions, slowly circling its prey, then the triumphant attack when the zebra realizes too late it has no escape. That's what this was. An ambush. Carlisle had known this from the beginning. He had known everything. He had been planning this all along. Call my best mate, make him fly all the way to Tiny Town, Wisconsin just to soften me up. Just to push me further into the corner. I stared at Luke. How could he? Was what he said about Rachel even true? Or was it all part of the plan to make me feel more utterly and hopelessly alone? "Lucas," I breathed, my eyes filling with hurt and distrust. "Tell them it won't work. Tell them—"

"I don't care what it takes," Edward pressed, his quiet voice edging on desperate. "Do whatever you have to. I just want her back."

"No." I shook my head, my own voice strained and tight. "It . . . I . . . Luke." I looked helplessly at him.

Instead of the pity and understanding I expected to find on his cold, stoic face, I saw an unusual amount of malice and contempt. He all but jumped across the room, seized me by the collar and practically threw me out the back door. I stumbled out onto the deck.

"What the fuck was that?" he demanded, jerking me onto the deck by the shirt collar. The glass door slammed behind us. "What the fuck _was_ that!"

"Luke," I stammered, shaken and caught off guard. "Please. I, I can't, Luke. I can't!"

"Can't what, exactly? What is it you can't do? Tell me, Kai, please, so we can sort this out."

I flinched away, not just from him but from the house, away from the Cullens and their sudden expectations. "I, I don't . . .He doesn't know what he's asking!" My eyes flicked nervously from his angered face to the shocked faces of the Cullens on the other side of the glass. "Why are you so angry with me? What do you care about this girl? You've never met this girl. I've never met this girl. You hardly know these people. You're supposed to be on my side. You're supposed to be my friend."

"Not when you choose to be a selfish prick!"

"I'm always a selfish prick! You've always put up with it before!"

"That's because—because." He faltered. "For once in your fucking life, please, Kai! think of someone else for a change. She's part of this family. She's someone's wife, someone's mother. They need you."

"If I'd never come here—" I started to protest.

"But you are here, Kai! That's the point!"

I shook my head fiercely. "I'm not a hero. I never was. I never will be. I never want to be. Do you know what happens to heroes, Luke? They die— Carlisle!" I exclaimed, stupidly hoping his somber presence meant he was on my side. "Please! I can't do it. It's suicide!"

The door shut silently behind him, and he struck out purposely across the deck—not menacingly or angry in any way, like I would expect from anyone less. He simply stepped like someone with a very clear purpose. I backed away, dreading what word lay just behind his lips. Luke sensed this was nothing he wanted to be caught in the middle of and slithered away to safety. But I, I had nowhere to go. I was pressed against the railing with nowhere to go but over the side, and Carlisle was still advancing. I braced myself, cringing like I expected him to hit me. He never did. I opened an eye and saw him standing calmly and erect, close but not too close. "Carlisle—"

"I wouldn't dream," he said in that soothing voice of his, "of asking you to risk your life for us.. We don't expect you to fight our battles."

"Carlisle," I pleaded, knowing he didn't mean a word of it, "even if I did agree, I don't see how it would work. Aro would know. . . He puts up with a lot of shit from me already, but if he found out I was planning to smuggle out his new toy, he'd kill me."

"There is one way," he said, stepping closer. "Before you recovered, when you were still partially human, Edward couldn't see your thoughts. Maybe Aro won't be able to either."

"Turn me human!" I shouted, appalled by what he was hinting. "How do you plan to do that!"

Carlisle hesitated. He looked at Luke. "Haven't you told him?"

"Told me what? Wait, what's going on? Tell me what? What was that look? Luke, what aren't you telling me? Lucas. Don't walk away from me. Lucas!" I caught him by the arm. "Please don't make me force you."

"You're going to hate me."

"I hate you already. I couldn't possibly hate you any more."

Luke couldn't bring himself to look at me. "I've been trying," he said, his eyes fixed on the ground, "for weeks to find a way to say this that won't get me killed, but, Kai, I, I understand, I mean, I know—"

"Good God, Luke! Spit it out!"

"I know why you left. I mean, I talked to Carlisle and he told me."

"When did you talk to Carlisle?"

"Over the phone, before I came." He paused. "I know why you got sick. Do you remember a year or so ago you took to buying blood from the blood bank?"

I nodded though the question was rhetorical.

"I . . . tampered with a few of them."

"What do you mean tampered? Mixing blood types? So what. I do it all the time."

Luke shook his head. "No. Nothing as asinine as that. I . . .I was curious. I remembered the story you told me about werewolves and vampires, and I was curious . . . to see if it was tru—."

I didn't even think. I lunged and suddenly my fingers were around his throat and we were crashing through the railing. "You fed me your blood!"

Luke struggled to breathe. "Kai—"

"You could have killed me!" We tumbled down the hill in a strange tug-of-war. Carlisle was shouting and Luke was shouting—trying to—but my mind was focused on one thing: separating Luke's head from the rest of him. Then next thing I knew Carlisle seized my jacket and I was hurtling through the air. I landed on my feet, murder in my eyes. "Get out of the way, Carlisle," I growled, stalking across the yard. "I'm going to kill him."

Carlisle set himself firmly between us. "You're overreacting."

"Overreact—! He tried to kill me!"

"I didn't mean for you to get hurt," Luke tried to explain.

"No! Obviously you meant to kill me!" I was irate. I was beyond irate. How dare he! "You betrayed me, Luke."

"That wasn't my intent—"

"What was it then? You wanted to use me like a common lab rat! You thought it would be good laugh! Fuck you, Luke!"

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

I took off for the trees, my eyes stinging. "I can see that! For Christ's sake!"

"Kai, let me explain."

I didn't look back.


	39. Cyanide

**Cyanide**  
_Luke_

Carlisle went after him. I didn't dare follow; I would only make things worse. I was frozen. I could do nothing, go nowhere. I was stranded in the middle of the yard, staring blankly after them in the hastening twilight. What had I done? I could have killed him. Surely I had known that from the beginning. I had to have. But the thought had never crossed my mind. It should have. I had known the story behind the feud almost as long as I had known Malakai. Werewolf blood was toxic to vampires. It had killed hundreds in the past thousand years. So why had I thought mine would be any different? Because I was half human. Because we weren't waging a war against one another. Because I was stupid. It was never my intention. . .

I sunk to the ground, my knees buckling under the weight of my conscience. What had I done? I had betrayed him, just as he said. I had betrayed his trust. His friendship—if I had ever had it. I had consciously, knowingly, willingly, poisoned him. Why? I racked my skull for any kind of justification. There was none. I had risked his life on a fancy, a stupid whim. Now the one and only person in my life who had never judged me for all my flaws, couldn't stand the sight of me. Because I got curious.

I drew up my knees and laid my head in my hands. "Fuck me."

Now Carlisle was suggesting Malakai let me poison him. All to save their darling Betty—Bella. But who was he kidding? Who was I kidding? Who were any of us kidding? Malakai wasn't a hero. He knew it. I knew it. Carlisle had to know it.

He might look like Prince Charming, but they were most definitely not cut from the same cloth. Prince Charming had integrity, honor, compassion. Malakai possessed none of those things. Despite his constant denials, he was still his father's son. He was still an ass. And a selfish one at that.

So, even if he didn't hate me for going behind his back, feeding him poison, and forcing him to drop off the radar while he quietly wasted away. (Which I realize didn't happen, but in Malakai's mind, the possibility of disaster and disaster are the same thing.) Even if none of that had happened and we still found ourselves at precisely this crossroad, Malakai's answer would be no different. The only person in the world he would risk his life for was Clara, and she—

No. I couldn't. I wouldn't. It would be too cruel. It would be worse than what I had already done. To go to him when he was wounded and irrational and say "Think of Clara. Wouldn't you do anything you could to save her?"

He would look at me with such sad searching eyes, and then, defeated, he would consent. Could I really be that cruel?

Something told me I already was.

None of this would have happened if we had left for the airport when he said we would. But Malakai never did anything when he said he was going to. Because he was an ass.

I staggered to my feet. I was arguing in circles, I realized, fruitlessly. If Carlisle could talk him into it, fine; I was going to keep my nose out of it. In the mean time, I still had three pounds of licorice in the car. Maybe I could drown my woes in that. I turned toward the house, dreading the idea of walking into a room full of vampires after I just admitted to trying to kill one. I saw the other werewolf—was his name Jake or Jack?—had been watching me from the deck. He trotted down the steps to meet me. He carried a bag of Twizzlers as a peace offering and casually tossed it at me like we were old chums.

"No hard feelings about earlier?" he said. I assumed this was his attempt at an apology. "I get a little carried away sometimes."

"Don't worry about it."

"So," he ventured when I said nothing more. "Does werewolf blood really poison vampires like that?"

"It's not a very well known fact, but yes, it does," I said only after I'd had my fill of licorice. "That's what nearly killed Caius." The words slipped out before I could stop them. No one was supposed to know.

"Wait. Caius? I thought he was attacked by a werewolf?"

I held back a groan. "No. Caius was_ nearly killed_ by a werewolf. They're remarkably different things."

"What happ—"

"I'm not allowed to disclose that information. But I can tell you that werewolves and vampires weren't always mortal enemies."

The screen door slid open. The strange half-human girl appeared. "I thought that was just a myth."

"It's a very well kept secret," I said as more of them filtered into the back yard. Shouldn't they know this story already? Malakai told me Carlisle lived with the Volturi before the two of them met. Had they told him nothing? And why did I feel this weird compulsion to tell them now? "There was a time when vampires slept during the day. They really were burned by the sun. Some still are. Some, like you, evolved. No one has figured out how or why. According to legend, the Romanians were among the first day-walkers. Werewolves were originally recruited to guard vampires while they slept. The Royal Coven of the time, Egyptians, I believe, sought out a few Alphas and drew up a contract. Back then they weren't bound to the full moon but could transform whenever they needed, like Jacob. They were wolves during the day while their masters slept, and when night fell and the vampire awoke, the werewolf would often turn human. Sometimes they were rather . ." I searched for the appropriate word. "_intimate_. It wasn't necessarily uncommon, but even back then it was frowned upon.

"As the centuries wore on, werewolves were increasingly kept against their will until one of them suggest a revolt. A great and bloody revolution raged for over a century until finally the contract was destroyed. Of course, by then the contract was over a thousand years old and the only ones who might have remembered the fine print were long gone. You see, the contract and its binding power had given the werewolf some of its strength. Without it, some packs found they could no longer morph into wolves, others were unable to turn human, a few were frozen between wolf and man, destined to live out their days in freak shows. The majority of them soon found they could only change during the full moon.

"A few realized that in this vulnerable state they were easy prey. A Council of Elders was created, and they strove to establish a civil, friendly relationships with the new Royal Coven, the Romanians. It was nearly a hundred years after the revolution, but eventually a treaty was drawn up and to some degree things became 'normal' again. But not everyone shared the same enthusiasm for the new treaty. A splinter group of radical anti-vampire werewolves formed. They were determined never again to be controlled by vampires. They knew a vampire was powerless without blood, so they poisoned theirs and forced other werewolves to do the same. The poison became part of their chemical make-up, much like venom is a part of yours. It was long after the Romanian usurpation that one particular vampire fell deeply in love with a beautiful young werewolf, though he didn't know it when they first met. She was their princess. He was vampire royalty. Many believed their union would bring peace to their races once and for all. It was a perfect match."

There was a rustling of leaves. Carlisle materialized from between the trees, Malakai plodding behind, demure and sullen. "But one night he got thirsty," Malakai took up the story, all eyes on him as they climbed the wood steps and Malakai flung himself into a wicker chair. "How was he supposed to resist? Poor man. The moment her blood hit his system, he stroked or something. Whatever it was, he survived the ordeal, God knows how, but his heart didn't. Too pained and enraged by the humiliation, he convinced himself that it had been her plan to kill him all along. He sentenced her to death. She pleaded and begged for him to have mercy. She told him she loved he. He stood by with a deaf ear and watched her burn. Since then, it has been his personal mission to cleanse the world of werewolf scum." I knew the last word was directed at me.

"For the tenth time, Kai, I said I was sorry."

"And for the tenth time, Lucas, I don't forgive you!" he shouted and stalked to the edge of the deck, glaring dagger at me. "Nor do I believe you! How would you like it if next time you went for a glass of milk, I made sure to spike it with cyanide? In fact, why don't you save me the trouble and—"

Emmett raised his hand. He had a question. "Why does all of this sounds vaguely like _Underworld_?"

Malakai turned away, too disgusted with me to say more.

"Because it's exactly like _Underworld_," I explained. "He sold the idea to some producer."

"Stop telling them everything!" Malakai exploded. "No one can know. I should kill you for telling them. I should kill you anyway!"

"You'd regret it in the morning," I said.

"Would I! I sincerely doubt it!"

"Kai—"

"Don't," he threatened. "Talk to me. It's hard enough letting you go on breathing as it is." I had never seen him so angry. He was usually mad at me for something, but he had never looked on me with such hatred. "However," he said, like he was some benevolent king granting pardon to some petty criminal, "as Carlisle was apt to point out, it costs much more to transport a dead body transatlantic than it does a live one. As I cannot in good conscience leave Carlisle to ship your sorry ass back to your mother, I have decided to let you think about your actions on the flight home. In _economy_. By the _engines_."

". . .OK." He was being far more reasonable than I expected. I looked at Carlisle, amazed. He had achieved the impossible; he had talked sense into Malakai. "I already booked two first class seats—"

"I know. Carlisle thought it would be best if he came with us to oversee the process, so—"

"Wait, you agreed to do this?"

"—he'll be taking your seat."

I knew that couldn't be the end of it. "And what happens to me once we're in London?"

"I will determine that when we arrive."

Carlisle cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we have to be going."


	40. The Admiral

**The Admiral**

The English countryside was alive with color. Magnificent maples in maroons and golds, the old oaks in rusty browns and oranges rusting in the crisp autumn breeze. A solitary black Bentley glided over the dusty gravel in the bright afternoon. It propelled itself across rolling fields of winter wheat and wild flowers, jetted around picturesque pastures and the cast iron gate that announced 12 Brookshire.

Malakai saw none of it. As they sailed along, Carlisle at his side and Luke banished to the front with his driver Jeffery, he was too busy contemplating the consequences of killing Luke with Jeffery as a witness. Perhaps if he killed Jeffery first. . . His daydreams were cut short when his driver announced they had arrived. "Here we are, sir," Jeffery said, a touch of Cockney in his accent. He left the car running, hopped out and walked around the car to open Malakai's door, but Malakai didn't wait. He was already up the front steps before Jeffery realized he wasn't in the car.

The massive pine doors opened before him. A young woman, perhaps twenty with pale complexion and stick-straight light brown hair held the door. "Good afternoon, sir," she said with a curtsy.

"Pleasant flight?"

"Hardly," he snorted, brushing past her with hardly a glance.

The girl stared after him, mouth agape. Mr. Ross was never—

"Just ignore him, Amanda," Luke sighed as he came up the steps, laden with both his and Malakai's luggage. "He's in one of his moods. How are you?"

Amanda seemed to relax around Luke. "Just fine," she said. "Do you want me to—"

"No, I've got it. Don't worry. This is Dr. Carlisle Cullen, by the way. He's an old friend of Kai's," he said, stepping over the threshold.

Carlisle was a few steps behind, looking like a man coming home, his real home, after a too-long absence. "Hasn't changed at all," he muttered to himself, walking past without seeing them. He set his small bag on the middle of the foyer and moved through to the drawing room, pausing in front of the faded portrait of Malakai's mother hanging on the east wall. She was a thing of rare beauty. Preserved by the artist's skillful brushstrokes, she remained eternally twenty-nine; her satin smooth skin and ivory complexion and the soft curl of her midnight-black hair perfectly suited her delicate features and rounded cheekbones. The dress she wore, of the fairest blue taffeta to match her sparkling eyes, was simply adorned, though no less elegant than if she had been wearing diamonds. An eighteen-month-old Malakai sat at her feet like a tiny cherub, his pudgy little arms stretched as far as they could go, greedy for her arms. He was turned from the painter, as if the man drawing his mother were some unbearable intruder. There was only the sliver of profile; the curve of a dimpled cheek, a mirror of his mother's, his nose, stronger than hers, his father's perhaps, and his pouting frown, as red and as perfect as his mother's smile. It was meant to be just a portrait of her, a birthday gift to her husband. But the painter hadn't been able to resist. The longer his mother ignored him, sitting primly in her chair of black velvet, the more the young Malakai yearned for her. When at long last Mrs. Ross looked down on her son, the artist knew he had found his masterpiece. Her rosy smile, her forget-me-not eyes full of love, the kind of love Carlisle could only dream of. The love of a mother.

Malakai cleared his throat.

Carlisle broke his gaze from the portrait, blinked at Malakai leaning in the doorway.

"If you're quite through ogling my mother."

"I'm sorry," Carlisle apologized hastily. "It's a spectacular piece."

"Yes," he replied flippantly. "I'm sure Basil Hallward would be proud." He pulled a tarnished silver tin from his breast pocket and, in a practiced fashion, fished a thin brown cigarette from its depths and stuck it between his lips. He returned the case and exchanged it for an abused blue Zippo. He had trouble getting it to light.

"What are you doing?" Carlisle asked, watching with mild amazement.

Malakai exhaled a wreath of pale smoke. "What, like it's going to kill me?" He came into the room, found a dusty blue-and-gold upholstered chair by the window and sat down heavily. There was a weariness about him that hadn't been there before. "I'm trying to cope."

Carlisle sat down with him in the other blue-and-gold armchair across the fireplace. "Cope?"

"Close the damn door, would you." He crushed his half-spent cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the table beside his chair and lit up another.

Carlisle did as he was ordered and sat down again.

"Don't give me that face," Malakai sneered. "This is the only thing keeping me from killing the damn son of a bitch. Unless you'd rather I kill him. I wouldn't mind, you know. It'd be no trouble at all."

"No, I don't think that's necessary."

Malakai scowled. For several uncomfortable minutes there was nothing but the sound of burning tobacco. After Malakai ground his third into dust, Carlisle realized why they smelled familiar. Cecil had smoked the same brand. He almost said something about it, but thought better of it at the last second. Malakai would probably deny it anyway.

"What happened to that damn bastard anyway?" Malakai asked suddenly.

"I think he was—"

"Amanda!" Malakai shouted, interrupting the doctor.

The girl appeared a few moments later. "Yes?" she said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"Is the Admiral still around?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where might he be this afternoon?"

"Last I saw of him he was digging holes in the rose garden. He's been giving David all sorts of trouble while you've been away."

Malakai tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette, clearly not listening to her answer. "Send him in, won't you. Actually, have Luke do it. You can have the day off. No, take the whole week. In fact, why don't you tell the rest of the staff to enjoy the weather while it lasts. Take a holiday or something."

"Thank you, sir."

He waved her away. "The Admiral, the Admiral."

Luke was still waiting for him in the kitchen. He was fixing himself a sandwich on the too-big-to-be-practical island. The kitchen was in the back of the house, as far from the drawing room as he could get without going upstairs, and in easy reach of the back door should he need an escape route.

It was a relatively new feature, this kitchen, at least to the main floor. On a whim, Malakai decided to re-purpose the larger parlor in 1940 and turned it into a modern work of kitchen art. It had seen its share of upgrades over the years, but it always managed to blend seamlessly with the rest of the house. Dark, worn wood flooring, faded white cabinets wrapped around the room in a long L, expansive marble counter tops, and the subway tile back splash. There was an enormous copper sink nestled beside a tall window with a brilliant view of the gardens. It had all the amenities a modern kitchen could dream of, including a newly installed wet bar that was always mysteriously empty.

The second she pushed through the revolving cedar door, Luke jumped at her with a trying-too-hard-to-be-casual "What did he want?"

"He wants you to bring in the Admiral," Amanda said, helping herself to a glass of lemonade from the fridge.

"Really? That was all?"

She shrugged as she turned around and took a sip. "He's smoking. I counted five so far."

"Ah, that bad?" He put down his sandwich, his appetite gone. "Do we have milk?"

Amanda got into the fridge again. "Sorry," she shook her head, her search unearthing nothing but moldy strawberries and mustard. "So," she said when the silence ran out, "did you guys get into it again, or is he mad about something else?"

Luke steadied her with a look. He couldn't rightly come out and say _Actually, your boss is a vampire and he's pissed I poisoned him with my blood. I'm a werewolf, by the way,_ so he said "That's sort of private, don't you think?"

The girl averted her gaze."Sorry."

"No, it's fine. It's just complicated." He tried to look and sound apologetic, he hadn't meant to be so sharp, but then didn't know why he had bothered. She wasn't paying him the least bit of attention anymore. She was checking her cell phone. He rolled his eyes. No wonder he kept their conversations short. A four-year-old had a longer attention span. And here he thought she was genuinely interested in something for once. He had almost taken pity on her and made up something to satisfy her curiosity.

He cleared his throat, but when her eyes remained affixed to her Samsung, Luke took that as his cue to leave, "Well, enjoy the time off," and turned toward the back door when the new groundskeeper, tan and smeared with dirt, trudged in.

"David," Amanda greeted a little too quickly, immediately snapping her phone shut.

"Hey," he said, giving her a smile as he set his soiled gloves and hat on the counter. He wasn't much older than she.

"I was just about to text you," she went on, pouring him a glass of lemonade before he asked for one.

It was as if Luke no longer existed. He watched them incredulously, staring at their back for longer than he should have. Rude was the first word that came to mind. The next few weren't as nice. He went out shaking his head and wondered why it bothered him so much.

~*~  
"So what's the plan?"

Carlisle's dark amber eyes slid off the windowsill and settled on Malakai. They had been sitting across from one another for an insufferably long time. And the conversation was less than pleasant. "Plan?"

"Don't play stupid. The plan to kill me."

"We aren't planning to kill you."

"You know, Carlisle," Malakai said his face obscured behind a cloud of smoke, "I never knew you to be a liar."

"You don't have to do it. No one's making you."

He almost laughed. "As if I have a choice. Aro would have gotten his way sooner or later. And even if I didn't know she was yours, I would never let him use me to get her. I don't whore out my talents like that. I just wish we didn't have to kill me to make this work."

"If Luke's blood hasn't killed you already, I'm not sure it can."

"Right," he said, choking on sarcasm. "Because I'm so fucking amazing nothing can kill me. Not only am I immortal, but indestructible as well."

Carlisle studied him a moment. "You said you wanted to know the results if I ever did that experiment."

"Ah, yes. How did it go?"

"Not well."

The drawing room door banged open and a massive brindled Great Dane bounded in.

"Admiral!" Malakai exclaimed gleefully, twisting round in his chair just as the Admiral launched himself into his lap. He yowled, his tail painfully excited to see his Master return. "Yes, I know, darling," he cooed affectionately. "I've missed you, too. Now get off."

The dog obeyed, his tail wagging a mile a minute.

"Sit."

The Admiral sat, pink tongue lolled to one side of his huge head.

Malakai scratched him behind the ears. "Well, say hello to Carlisle, why don't you. _Nicely_, please."

The dog obediently turned itself around and plodded over to Carlisle, a whole three steps, and sat at his feet, staring at him. Carlisle stared back.

"Offer him your hand," Malakai told the doctor.

Carlisle did, and to his amazement, the miniature Clydesdale gave up his paw—which was bigger than Carlisle's hand. Carlisle held it for an odd second when the Admiral, his duty done, retracted his greeting and sprawled out at Malakai's feet. "He's massive," Carlisle said.

"My giant marshmallow," Malakai smiled fondly. "And a terrible watch dog."

The Admiral's head craned around to look at his Master, as if he knew he had been insulted. "I'm sorry, darling, but you are," Malakai soothed him. And then, dejected, his head flopped to the floor.

"He tore up the roses again," Luke said from the doorway, knowing walking in without an invitation would be disastrous.

Carlisle could almost see the tension between them.

"Did he." Malakai's voice was distant and tight. "I hope our Dave is determined to fix that."

"I've no idea. He left with Amanda. Did you know those two are—"

"Attached at the hip?" He had run out of cigarettes. "Yes. I noticed. What is it with girls and gardeners?" he asked the room. "I remember Ashley was always tripping over herself around the last one . . . Then she got knocked up and—"

"Can I come in?" Luke blurted.

Malakai weighed his answer for some time. "No," he said finally. "Carlisle and I are having a private chat. Go away."

Luke bit back a retort, swallowed his pride, and retreated once again to the safety of the kitchen. He realized when he sank into the breakfast nook that he missed Annabell. And it wasn't just the sex he missed this time. He missed her. He needed someone to talk to, and, though he would never admit it out loud, he wanted that someone to be Annabell. But between his clock-work transformations and her erratic schedule, (she was a flight attendant for British Airways), they sometimes went months without seeing each others. He had missed her the last time she was in London, thanks to Malakai, and hadn't been able to reach her since. This thing with Malakai was eating him up, and all he wanted was to—

His phone rang.

"Annabell," he said in a rush of emotion.

~*~  
"Explain it again. I wasn't listening."

Carlisle sighed. His irritation was beginning to show. He had already explained it three times. He tried again, using the smallest words he could. "I took the acid. I dissolved it into a sample of human blood. Then dissolved that into a sample of my own blood and observed it all under a microscope."

"And you died?"

"Yes. My venom disintegrated in the same fashion it does when vampires are burned alive."

"But it recovered, didn't it? It must have. Mine did."

"Yours did, yes. Mine, however, did not."

"Which means what, exactly? This is where you lost me the last time."

"Which means that for at least eight hours you were, for all intents and purposes, dead. As dead as if you had been human and overdosed. And then you recovered. Why I don't know, but there's something minutely different about your venom. At least compared to mine," he added.

"A steady diet of human blood perhaps?"

"A possibility. Which is why I'd like to take another blood sample now that you're well."

"Absolutely not."

"Fine." Carlisle hid his disappointment well. "Whatever it is, your exposure to foreign pathogens in the past has no doubt strengthened your resistance to what would otherwise be deadly—werewolf blood, in this case. If we could somehow synthesize—"

"Damn it, Carlisle! I'm not some science specimen. Stop talking at me like I have no say in the matter."

"Of course you have a say—."

"I don't. Can we just do it and be done with it? I told Aro I'd be in Moscow by the end of next week."

~*~  
"Should have brought Edward to test it," Carlisle muttered, reclining in his chair.

It was eight days later and Malakai's eyes were as blue as the day he had ambushed him at St. Mary's. He wasn't happy about it, but Carlisle noticed it had subdued his temper considerably. Luke was finally able to be in the same room without being threatened. Malakai still glared, but it had lost most of its heat. They had almost had a civil conversation over breakfast this morning.

"So, are they hiding in Moscow now?" Luke had asked, meaning the Volturi.

"I don't think so," Malakai had said, toying with an apple. "Felix said he would be there to pick me up. I'm sure there's a hidden bunker somewhere under the great frozen depths of Siberia. Aro would settle for nothing less."

"Going to take the jet?"

"Maybe," He didn't want to think that far into the future.

"What if—?"

"Luke, seriously, one more question and I'll snap your neck. Just because we're talking again doesn't mean we are friends. I intend to hate you forever. Or longer."

Carlisle had sat, smiling and shaking his head. Best friends can never stay mad at each other for long.

~*~  
It was Sunday, and the cold had finally conquered the island. It eddied and swirled around their ankles as Malakai and his lone carry-on stood at the open door of the Rolls. Carlisle was already inside, eager to return to his family. He thought Malakai might like a private moment to say good-bye to Luke.

Luke stood on the stone steps, watching Malakai watch him. At long last Malakai spoke.

"Well, I hope you know that if I die I'm coming back to haunt you."

Luke nearly smiled. "Sounds fair."

And with that he was gone.


	41. Bella

**Bella**

Moscow in mid-October wasn't as cold as Malakai remembered. He hadn't see much of it through his tiny first-class window, (he had decided to leave the jet at home; he was much less conspicuous this way), but what he did see nearly brought him to tears. He just wanted to go home. Home. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't have a home. Sure, he had dozens of houses all over the globe, but home had always been Brookshire Place. Home had been with Luke. Had been. Past tense. The betrayal was heavy on his chest, an iron clamp round his heart. It pained him how easily Luke had thrown him aside, just like a . . . like a dirty dish rag. And he was just starting to think they could be a proper family. Now it looked like Felix was the only family he had left.

His head snapped up. _Felix_. He looked around him. The plane was nearly empty. When had they landed? Snatching his carry-on from the compartment above his head, he disembarked.

Felix was waiting for him on the other side of customs, his boat-sized shoes brushing the square of evening sunlight thrown across the grossly outdated tile floor, grinning ear to ear. The people milling past gave him a wide berth, as if not quite convinced by his human facade. He saw Malakai and waved, his huge club of a hand nearly knocking a passerby of his feet.

Malakai suppressed a shudder, made sure his sunglasses were firmly in place, and forced himself to walk forward. "Felix," he greeted tersely.

Felix's grin only grew. "You're late."

Malakai purposefully looked away from him. "No. You're early."

"Don't I get a hug?" He held out his arms.

"No."

Felix pretended to be hurt. "A handshake then?"

"Not on your life. Don't we have somewhere to be, or did you make me fly all the way out her just to make idle chit chat?"

"Always so feisty, Kai," he _tsked_. They started walked. "I haven't seen you in ages. How are you? How's your husband?"

Malakai declined to answer.

Felix smirked. "Now, remind me how it works again. Are you always the bottom, or do you take turns, or—?"

"Go to hell, Felix. That was a one time thing."

"So you admit it!" he laughed.

"Admit what?"

"That you and—"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," he started to say, but cut off mid-sentence when he realized what had felt wrong with this picture from the beginning. They were alone. "Where are the others?"

Felix paused in his step, raised a brow. "What do you mean?" he asked, his hand outstretched for the exit.

Malakai scanned the area, expecting to see Jane or Demetri lurking in the shadows, but all he saw was an illegally parked Aston Martin waiting for them and the jittery human driver. "Since when does Aro ever send in one of his lackeys? That would be too practical. And Aro is the furthest thing from practical. And why you? You're the least intimidating of any of them."

Felix let out a bark of laughter. "You wound me, Kai. Need I remind you I can be _extremely _intimidating if need be. Although, I had hoped that wouldn't be necessary," he added. "Come on." He herded Malakai out by the elbow and stuffed him into the back of the car.

"Stolen?"Malakai guessed.

"_Borrowed_," Felix emphasized, sliding in next to him. He instructed the human to "get on with it," settled back in his seat, and muttered too softly for Malakai to hear, "And here I thought we were going to have a happy reunion for once."

The Aston Martin shuttled them an hour outside the city to a barren field where Demetri, Malakai's third least favorite guard, waited for them beside an Eclipse 400 that had clearly seen better days. Malakai thought such a mistreatment of what was supposed to be a luxury aircraft was, well, unforgivable.

"You could stay this time, you know," Felix tried again. He had been saying different versions of the same thing for the last five hours.

And Malakai, who was not at all happy to find he would be sharing the tattered cabin with Felix, had been saying different versions of "What on earth could possibly possess me to do that?" for just as long.

"An unyielding love and devotion to me?" Felix suggested this time.

"If only such a thing existed," he replied airily.

Felix fixed him with a look. "I miss you, you know."

Through his sunglasses, Malakai fixed Felix with the same look. Though the sun had set an hour ago, he didn't dare part with them.

"Sorry to break up the family bonding session," Demetri called from the cockpit, "but we're here."

~*~  
"We could move in together," Felix fantasized aloud as Demetri lead them through the underground headquarters.

Malakai rolled his eyes but held back a groan. His answer was no. It would always be no so long as Felix remained with the Volturi. "Leave and we will," he had said a hundred times over the years. It was his only condition. But Felix never left. So Malakai never stayed.

"I don't want to," was all he said this time. This was why he hated visiting Volterra; Felix was suffocating.

"Is that Makki I hear?" a familiar voice called out and Aro appeared around the end of the corridor, gliding toward them in that impossible effortless way of his. He smiled. "So the prodigal son returns at long last."

"I'm no son of yours," Malakai quipped. He side-stepped Aro's hug, hid behind Felix. He never understood why Aro couldn't wait to receive him in the great hall like everyone else.

Aro's smile vanished. "A sad truth indeed," he admitted, his eyes sliding over Felix for the briefest moment. "But come, take a walk with me." It was a not-so-subtle hint for Demetri and Felix to disband.

Felix went grudgingly, casting one last longing look at Malakai before he went.

"Felix has missed you," Aro reminded him as they walked alone.

"I know." He knew Aro had missed him more.

"He wishes you would visit more often."

Malakai rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And I wish someone would tell me what the hell I'm doing here."

Aro laughed, a horrible metallic sound. "Fair enough. Come with me."

Aro led him this way and that, up corridors, down a flight of stone steps, and in and out of a maze of hallways. The further down they went, the less glamorous the rooms became; the walls were no longer smooth marble, but rough and unfinished. The electricity didn't extended this far either, rather, their path was illuminated by flame torches, staggered every thirty feet or so, but they did little to battle the permanent gloom. Malakai was reminded of a medieval dungeon, complete with scurrying rodents and long-legged spiders. He shuddered. Why did there have to be spiders?

Finally, Aro paused before a badly beaten steel door. He slid open the small viewing window cut out at shoulder-height. "She's proved difficult to break," he said in that sighing, disapproving tone that never failed to give Malakai chills. "I wouldn't lean too close," he advised just as Malakai stooped to have a look. "She's broken her fair share of noses."

Malakai got as close as he dared. Inside, sprawled at unnatural angles on the dusty floor, was what Malakai could only assume was left of Edward's Bella. Her tangled brown hair pooled around her placid, gaunt face, her cracked lips parted over sharp, gleaming canines. She scarcely breathed. Malakai couldn't say why, when he looked at her, he was reminded of his mother. Perhaps it was her eyes, so black no light was reflected there. He had seen them once before, in a life he no longer lived. His mother . . . he had seen the light leave her, watched her eyes close for the last time. He drew back, feeling nauseous. He had seen enough.

"She's young," he said, and wondered why he had expected any different.

"Aren't we all."

He couldn't get the image of her fangs out of his head. "When was the last time she drank anything?" Fangs didn't typically appear unless vampires went whole years without feeding, earlier if they were young.

Aro let out a sigh. "I have lost interest keeping track. The fangs are only recent, so they tell me. Though I'm afraid too much longer like this and she will turn to dust." He clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head. "She's rather theatrical, this one. Carlisle has certainly done a number on her. . ."

"She's Carlisle's?" Malakai tried to sound surprised.

"His son's. Ah, yes. I forget you have not seen him since you went your separate ways in Paris." A knowing smile played on his lips. "You were quite the pair. He was patriarch of the largest coven in the States, you know, and they all survived on animal blood."

"Really?" Malakai said, pretending he didn't notice Aro's use of past tense. "I thought he would grow out of that. Doesn't he mind you borrowing his daughter-in-law?"

Aro laughed again. "You sound as if you thought I asked for her. When have you ever known me to ask for anything?"

"Never." Malakai straightened up, feeling Aro closing in on him, and retreated safely out of reach. "Hell would surely freeze if such a day ever came."

Aro gave him a smile. "Thank you."

"Malakai."

Malakai turned at the sound of his name and saw Marcus, strolling genially toward them and almost smiling. "Marcus," he said in a breath of relief.

"Marcus—" Aro interjected sharply.

Marcus clapped Malakai on the shoulder. "How are you?"

"Marcus, I am trying—"

"Been better, believe it or not. You?"

Marcus shrugged lightly. "Same old, same old. What's with the shades? I like them."

"Marcus," Aro repeated, more severely this time.

"Thank you. I'm pretending to be Elvis today. Please don't touch."

"You smell different somehow. Still hanging around that werewolf of yours?"

"Marcus! Please!" Aro cried. "Do not choose now to break your vow of silence! _Shoo_."

Marcus stared at him a moment, his usual blank expression settling heavily upon him like an iron mask. He nodded blandly, looked regretfully at Malakai, and slid out of sight. Malakai didn't like to see him go.

Aro was shaking his head. "I have never in all my years seen anyone have quite the effect on Marcus as you do. It is most strange."

Malakai shrugged. "Kindred spirits. Now, why exactly am I here? And please don't tell me I have merely to persuade her to eat. That would be a gross misuse of my talents."

"For now, yes. Then, if I am satisfied, I may or my not let you go on your merry way. Shall I give you until the end of the day?"

"I don't even get to settle in first?"

Aro rolled his eyes, his patient worn thin. "You have twenty-four hours."

Malakai made no affirmation, just gave a vague "I'll see what I can do."

"Well." Aro clapped his hands in front of him, obviously please he had gotten his way. "I'll leave you to it. Here is the key." He dropped it into Malakai's palm and glided out of sight.

Bella appeared at the door the moment he was out of earshot, looking even more haggard up close. "You know Carlisle?" Her voice was cracked and rough.

Malakai looked up from the key in his hand and jumped. He hadn't anticipated such close proximity. He smoothed out his jacket and ruffled his hair before clearing his throat like a well-rehearsed actor preparing for an audition. "Knew him, darling," he said smartly. "The two are vastly different things."

"Do you know where he is?" she persisted.

He slipped the key into his pocket, took his time before answering. "I know where he isn't."

She glared, hating him already.

He would have found it comical if her appearance hadn't been so disturbing. "Thirsty?" he asked, glad to see she was playing her part flawlessly.

"No."

"Well, we both know that's a lie. I suppose your intent is to starve to death?"

"If it's possible."

"Believe me, sweetheart, it's possible. And an awful way to go, I might add. I knew a guy once who—"

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

He opened his mouth to respond, but was suddenly struck by an overwhelming wave of nausea. "Excuse me." He stepped away from her and paced down the corridor as fast as he dared, trying, with every once of strength, not to vomit, but he had barely made it around the corner before breakfast was all over his shoe. "So much for that," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and stalked back to her door. "Fucking werewolves."

"Who—?"

"Listen, love," he cut in, no longer in the mood to play this game. "I don't want to be here any more than you do. I was blackmailed into coming here. So. I don't give a fuck if you kill yourself or not. Honestly, I don't. But, Jesus Christ, your family does. Your dear Edward and your . . . child-thing. If you could only see the way he mopes around. . ."

"You've seen Edward?"

He ignored her. "So please, starve to death. But for Christ's sake just get it over with! I want to go home."

She remained annoyingly single-minded. "What do you know about Edward?"

"Sweetheart, darling," he pleaded, perfectly exasperated. "Who the fuck cares! You won't live to see the end of the week let alone see your darling husband ever again! Not at the rate you're going." He saw Felix approaching out of the corner of his eye. "And I can't justify pouring my efforts into a lost cause. I'm sorry." He snapped the little window shut and turned around. "What are you doing here?"

Felix smiled as he came up. "Admiring your handiwork."

"Go away." He brushed past brusquely.

Felix watched him go, looking crushed. "Why are you so cruel to me, Kai?"

"Various reasons, Felix."

There was an electric pause between them.

"Let me take you out to dinner," Felix offered, desperate.

"The list of things I'd rather do. . ." he trailed off.

"C'mon, Kai. When was the last time you ever scared the shit out of anybody? It'll be good for you."

~*~  
In the dead of night, the fires long burned out and the shutters drawn tight, the tiny Siberian village slept fitfully. In the months since the Volturi had taken residence nearby, the town had seen its numbers drop from a meager fifty to a paltry twenty-thr— twenty-two.

Malakai doubled over on the warped wood floor, giggling. "Holy shit that was fun."

Felix eased himself down into an old rocking chair, feeling bloated and content. He was laughing, too. "See. Told you."

Malakai staggered to his feet like a drunk, bumped into a kitchen chair and went tumbling over, his fall softened by Nataliya, the young Russian woman who had returned to the village just weeks ago to take care of your aging grandmother. Well, Malakai thought hazily as he rolled off her cold body, she wouldn't have to worry about her babushka any longer. She didn't have anything to worry about now. "You're welcome," he said aloud, patting her cheek like some great malevolent master. He sat back on his haunches and stared at her, absently sucking her blood off his fingers. "Shit," he said when he realized what he was doing. He swiped his sunglasses from his face, rubbed his eyes with both hand, and replaced the shades like they had become a part of his anatomy. "What the hell was that old woman on? Horse tranquilizers? _Jesus_. I think I'm seeing spots."

Felix creaked back and forth in his rocking chair, still snickering.

"What's so funny?" Malakai asked, too distracted by the tingling sensation in his fingers to listen to the answer. He wondered offhandedly if this was what being drunk felt like to Luke. He didn't know if he liked it, this fuzzy feeling. "I miss Lucas," he blurted suddenly, interrupting whatever Felix was saying. He flung himself on the floor like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Felix mopped his face with his giant paw of a hand and sighed. Of course Malakai missed Luke. It always came back to that damn werewolf. For the past eight years, Malakai had been able to talk of little else. Felix assumed it was just a phase; some charity case like Cecil had been. What other explanation was there? A genuine mutual affection? Unlikely. Malakai was incapable of anything so selfless, and Luke was, well, a werewolf. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Malakai snorted. "With you? No thanks."

"I was just offering. No need to be a dick."

"You're never just offering, Felix. I know better than that."

Felix stopped rocking. "Why do you hate me?"

Malakai lifted his head from the floor. "I don't hate you," he said. "I just have strong negative feelings toward you. But it isn't hate, per se." He saw the conversation getting very heavy very fast and thought it best to make a hasty escape. He sat up quickly, too quickly, and felt another pang of nausea as the blood sloshed through his arteries. "Well," he said when the dizziness had passed, "I think I've had enough excitement for one night." He stood up to leave.

"Kai—"

"Save it Felix," he cut in sharply. "I've heard it before. You're sorry. I know."

"But I _am_ sorry. I should have been there from the beginning—God knows I wanted to be—and I'm sorry I couldn't."

Malakai disappeared into the bitter night before Felix could finish, leaving him to suffer his melancholy alone.

~*~  
"Marcus!" the call rang out in the antechamber. "Marcus!" Malakai shouted, searching for Marcus's private apartments, throwing open every door in his path. He had resolved on the walk back that it was high time he told someone about his "condition" and knew it had to be Marcus. "Marcus!" At long last Malakai picked the right door. There, in the dim lighting of a minimally yet finely furnished sitting room, sat Marcus, reclined on a red velvet sofa, dressed in the usual boring garb, and reading the latest from Danielle Steele.

"Malakai," he said with a start, snapping the book shut and sliding it out of view too late.

Malakai froze in his tracks, his whole purpose for being there derailed by the revelation that Marcus read "Romance novels? Really?"

"We all have our guilty pleasures," the accused said with a sigh. "Aro's is ripping limbs off small children, mine happens to be reading cheap paperback sex novels."

"Romance, you mean."

"Do I? It's so hard to distinguish between the two these days." He chuckled, a faint breathy sound. "But what are you doing back so early? I thought you and Felix would be out until morning."

Malakai flung himself on the couch with a huff.

Marcus understood perfectly. "Got all sentimental again, did he? Or was he poking fun at your sunglasses?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, but it unsettles me to see you so distressed. Tell me, what's troubling you? You know you may confide in me whatever you wish."

Malakai didn't respond right away. "I don't think I can do it."

"Do what?"

"This thing with whatshername."

"Bella."

He nodded numbly. "I can't do it."

"That's absurd, Malakai. Come now, don't be so pessimistic. It doesn't suit you."

"Dammit Marcus!" Malakai sprang up from sofa, paced frantically back and forth and back and forth, and then sank into the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "All I ever wanted out of life was a nice girl to growl old with in a cottage by the ocean. Really. I could have been happy with that. But what do I get? Felix. Forever going on about how sorry he is for leaving me in that carriage all those years ago."

"Are we still talking about—?"

"And how sorry he is for ruining my life," he went on, taking no notice of the interruption. "And if it's not Felix whining, it's Luke."

"Ah, so this has something to do with your werewolf. But what does Luke—?"

"Why does everyone say that!" Malakai wailed. "He isn't _my_ werewolf. He isn't even my friend after what he did to me."

"Did to you?" Marcus got the feeling this was going to be another of Malakai's typical inconsequential rants. Why he chose to stay with someone who made him so clearly unhappy was a mystery. Whatever the reason, he wasn't going to indulge him this time. "Need I remind him that you raped him first."

"What!" Malakai jumped from the couch at once. "No! No one raped anyone! Ever! Jesus, Marcus! Never mind. I thought I would be able to talk to you about this, you of all people, but I see I was mistaken. Excuse me. I have a sudden desire to hang myself in the broom cupboard."

Marcus grabbed his wrist before he got very far. "Forgive me. I see you are upset. I am sorry. I should have been more sensitive. Please, what do you wish to discuss?"

"Don't pull that touchy-feely shit with me, you bipolar bastard."

Marcus released his hand. "Sit down." It was an invitation, not an order.

Malakai sat.

"Tell me what's bothering you."

Malakai sighed. "Do you want to know why I've been wearing this wretched things all day?"

"I gathered you were impersonating Elvis Presley. Is that not the case?"

"That too. But you see. . ." He set his sunglasses aside, "Lucas has been conducting a little experiment."


	42. Arm Candy

**Arm Candy**

"What an interesting development!" Aro laughed genially. It was early the next morning and Marcus had brought Malakai to Aro's apartments to share the news. "Felix was right. You do have very striking blue eyes. Why would you want to hide them from me?"

Malakai chose not to answer. He kept his head down, his shoulder tense.

"Yet you say it has had an adverse affect on your power?" Aro pressed, having a great deal of fun playing private detective. "Very peculiar indeed, though no doubt you're lucky to be alive at all."

Malakai's eyes moved to where Caius should have stood, but the place was empty. Caius, he had been told, was away recruiting more "volunteers" and wouldn't be back for weeks, much to Malakai's relief.

"Ah, I see," Aro said, not missing the movement. "Not to worry. I am a man of my word. So long as you keep your end, no harm shall come to your beloved Lucas."

Malakai bowed his head. "Thank you."

"But I wonder," the ancient lord went on, enticed by some unspoken prospect, "if it would have any effect on _my_ power if I were to use it on you."

Malakai felt his breath catch. He dared not look up. ". . .Should it?"

Marcus spoke up first. "You see, Aro has become rather fixated on the notion ever since he encountered Bella. Her thoughts are blocked to him."

"You don't say?" Malakai tried to look anything other than terrified. "Even now?"

Marcus nodded. "It is an anomaly. I think Aro wonders if, because your eyes have changed, your brain has been altered as well."

"Makes sense." He made it sound as though he hadn't already had this discussion with Carlisle. "Although," he added quickly, "I'd just as soon not find out, if it's all the same to you. I've had a terrible week, as you can imagine."

Aro was surprisingly benevolent. "Another time then."

Malakai nodded obediently and wondered how much longer Aro's good graces would last.

A long pause followed. Everyone awaited Aro's decision.

"Well, damn," he muttered in good humor, "I see this won't be as easy as I planned." Then he turned thoughtful. "Your power isn't gone, is it? Merely weakened?"

"I don't know," he started to say, "I mean, it works all right on humans, but I haven't tested it on a vampire lately."

"Then you will test it on Bella."

"If you still wish it," Malakai said graciously, though a part of him hoped Aro would throw in the towel and send him home.

Aro said he did indeed still wish it and ordered Marcus to escort him to Bella at once. It seemed he was destined to be a prisoner here, too.

~*~  
"So he's an international man of mystery," Annabell giggled from the passenger seat of Luke's Land Rover. "How intriguing."

"Not really," Luke said dismissively, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as he carefully guided the car up the snowy drive to Brookshire Place. The snow had been coming down since he left for the airport that morning, and it hadn't stopped since. The radio called it the worst snow storm England had seen in a decade.

Luckily, Annabell's plane had been ahead of the weather and she had been waiting outside the terminal, in the usual place, for him. She always looked so excited to see him, standing by the curb, good weather or bad, watching for his car, then waving eagerly when it appeared, as if he might not recognize her and drive on. Smiling like he was picking her up for their first date, not the millionth. Luke kept waiting for it to get old—he knew it would be time to call it quits when it did—but it had been almost two years and it still made him smile. She was a refreshing change of pace from the rest of his life, a safe haven, a much needed break from Kai, and a much better friend.

"But at least he's an international ass," she said, defending his honor when his own friend would not.

Luke offered a hazy smile. He had a hard time believing, though her birthday was but a week away, that she was almost twenty-nine. She had such a child-like enthusiasm, and a genuine youthfulness that made Malakai and his stolen youth seem like a cheap imposter. Originally from Toledo, Ohio, Annabell worked for Northwest Airlines until three years ago when she quit and moved to London with then-boyfriend Robert. She really thought he was different from all the other men she had dated, but (as usual) he turned out to be like every other asshole on her long list of bad relationships. Soon after the split she started stewarding again for British Airway and met Luke on the job about ten months later. She had been wary about dating him at first; she always had the hardest time keeping boyfriends and many of the men she dated couldn't handle her erratic schedule and long hours. In her experience, there invariably came a point in the relationship (about three months in) when they'd ask her to quit, then an ultimatum when she refused. And why wouldn't she? She loved her job. She wasn't going to let it go just because it was convenient for someone else. Luke, for whatever reason, seemed to understand this and never once even hinted that he would be happier or love her more if she quit. Maybe it was juvenile, but Annabell felt as though she would be willing to give it up if that's what he wanted. All he had to do was ask. . .

She shook herself of the daydream and sighed.

"What's the matter?" Luke asked, his eyes fixed on the blizzard raging against their windshield.

"Nothing," she said, fiddling with the loose button on her favorite wool coat. "I just wish you would have let me change first. I smell like an airport."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, sensing it was bigger than that. "You smell fine," he assured her, pulling the Rover alongside the freshly plowed front steps. "Besides, it's only going to be the two of us. You don't have to impress me." He forced his door open against the arctic wind and hopped out just as Annabell shouted after him.

"What! What do you mean just the two of us? Lucas! I thought I was meeting Kai this Christmas! What the hell! That's the only reason I came!"

He wrenched open her door. "I'm sorry," he hollered above the wind, his hair and eyelashes blanketed with a thick layer of snow. "I thought I told you he couldn't join us. Look, can you be angry with me inside? It's freezing."

She pouted for a second more before she reluctantly gave him her hand.

Parker, the ancient evening butler, greeted them at the door. He was fearfully old. So old he had been old when Malakai first hired him, and that had been over forty years ago. Yet he had a full head of—not white but dark gray—hair, and a full set of pearly whites. He never complained of an ache or a pain—though he wasn't the kind of man to do so if he had one. Luke had suspected for some time that Malakai kept Parker well supplied with a steady stock of vampire blood. It was the only thing that explained his longevity and why he was allowed to know what Malakai and Luke pretended not to be.

"Good evening, sir. Miss," he added with a bow when he saw Luke was not alone. "Do you require assistance with the luggage?"

Luke looked around him and saw he had left their things in the car. "No. I'll get them."

He left Annabell standing in the atrium, looking about, slack-jawed, like a kid in a candy store for several seconds before Parker felt the need to assert his presence.

"Your coat, miss?"

Annabell looked round with a start. "Oh," she said and didn't know where to go from there. No one had ever asked for her coat before. "Um, yes, thank you."

Parker stepped behind and expertly slid it from her shoulders before for she had a chance to ungracefully wrestle it off herself.

Luke swept in the door, laden with suitcases and covered with snow—again—in time to hear Parker say admiringly when Annabell's uniform was exposed: "Ah, British Airways. How long have you been there?" And Annabell, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment, saying "Um, only about three years."

Luke watcher her gravitate toward him unconsciously, and smiled as he set down their things and handed Parker his coat. For the briefest moment—and he couldn't pinpoint why—he expected Malakai to walk in, laughing and say something like "Come now, Parker, I don't pay you to make idle conversation with my house guests. Go butler something somewhere else." But Malakai was nowhere to be found and Parker was free to carry on.

"I was a pilot there once myself," he was saying. "That's how I met the Master. But that was a long time ago."

"Parker," Luke recalled him, jarring the man from his nostalgia, "show Annie her room. I have to make a call."

"Certainly, sir," the butler said with a short bow. He took up their sparse luggage, instructed Annabell to "Please follow me, miss," and led her up the grand staircase. "It's a pity," he said as they traveled upward, still within earshot of Luke, "the weather is not better. The full moon is supposed to be stunning tomorrow night."

Luke froze in fear. It couldn't be. . . "On Christmas Eve?" he called up, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

"Yes, sir," Parker confirmed from the top of the stairs. He waited patiently for Annabell, for she was a few steps behind, before continuing briskly toward the guest quarters. "With any luck the storm will have moved on by then."

Luke made no answer, and Annabell was left wondering, as she paused to wave back at Luke, why he looked so tormented.

~*~  
Malakai had just convinced Bella to shut the hell up about Edward (for the millionth time) when his phone rang. He saw it was Luke and snapped it open in an instant. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice."

"You sound terrible," Luke's voice cracked over the distance. "How are you?"

"Terrible," he said, locking Bella in her room before he hurried up the stairs to find someplace a little more private. "Aro's still bent on having me convert her to the dark side, but she has even less intention to kill werewolves than I do. You'd think someone would have figured out she was a lost cause ages ago and done us all a favor and gotten rid of her."

"That bad?"

"She's the most insufferable creature I've ever had the displeasure of knowing. I swear, she'll kill me before Aro ever does. Hell, I'm tempted to beat them both to it."

"Please not while I'm on the line."

"No, of course not. After."

There was a pause.

"But you have made some progress?" Luke asked.

"A very limited some. She's taking regular meals finally, so that's something. But, honestly, the job is impossible. If things keep going at the rate they are, I'm afraid my only other option is to bang her. And I really don't want to do that."

"Because she's married?"

"Because she's annoying. And whiny, and depressed, and _annoying_. You have no idea how badly I want to rip out her tongue just so she'll shut the hell up. I've no idea why Edward wants her back."

"Do you have a deadline?"

Malakai let out a sigh. "Aro said New Year's. Whenever that is. It could be tomorrow for all I can tell in this godforsaken place."

"Thursday is Christmas."

"This Thursday? Already? Shit! Luke! Why didn't you tell me sooner? I haven't gotten you anything."

Luke had to laugh. "As devastated as I am that I won't be getting a present this year, I think I'll live." He paused. "I brought my girlfriend out to Brookshire for the holidays. Hope you don't mind."

"Girlfriend!" Malakai exploded. "In my house? Lucas! What the hell! Since when?"

"Since two years ago."

"Years!" Malakai shouted through the phone. "Lucas, I . . . I don't know what to say. You must really like her to keep her from me for so long."

Luke didn't realize it was true until Malakai said it. ". . . I do. Which is why I'm calling," he said, a new edge to his voice. "I miscalculated my days. The full moon's tomorrow."

Malakai quieted. "Oh."

"And I have no fucking idea what I'm going to do."

A dozen ideas swirled through Malakai's head, but none got Luke away long enough without raising questions. "Shit."

"I know. I mean, I can't just take off and leave her here with Parker."

"And you can't stay or you'll kill her. Not to mention ruin the finish on the hardwood. . . Could you ask Parker to sedate you? I doubt it'll stop the change but you might be able to sleep through it."

"And how exactly do I explain that to Annabell?"

"Annabell?"

"Kai. Focus. Please."

"All right, all right. Sorry. Well," he thought aloud, "Parker could lock you in the cellar. You could tell her I'm in trouble and you have to fly out to help me."

"I wouldn't do that even if you were in trouble."

"I could come to you," he suggested instead.

"How would that solve anything?"

"It would get me out of this hellhole for once. . ." he trailed off, enticed by the prospect. "You've given me an idea. I have to go."

"No, Kai. Wait— Don't—"

But Malakai was already gone.

Annabell wandered into the room behind the stairs just as Luke was calling Malakai back. She paused in the doorway, wearing nothing but a sheer, floor-length, embroidered silk kimono Parker had unearthed in one of the wardrobes. He didn't say why such a thing happened to be lying around a young man's bachelor pad, and, quite frankly, she didn't want to know. She only tried it on because she thought the green and gold tones would bring out the color in her hazel eyes. And it did.

Luke had to do a double-take. "Where did you get that?"

"I thought you might like it." Her smirk was sultry, seductive. "Parker's drawing a bath. I thought you might like to join me."

Luke hesitated.

"What's the matter?" she asked in a tone of concern and came to him. "Who was on the phone?"

"Kai," he told her, not meeting her eye.

"Did you convince him to come home for Christmas?" she asked, getting her hopes up as she settled into his lap.

"No. There's been a problem in . . . France." He hated lying. "He needs me to fly out tomorrow."

She laced her fingers through his, feeling her hopes deflate. "On Christmas Eve?"

"He promised I would be home early Christmas morning. Before you wake up, even."

"Why not leave tonight, then? You could be back sooner."

Luke hoped she wouldn't think of that. "Not in this weather," he said, surprised how easily the lie came.

"Ah, right. I forgot."

"I'm sorry," he said, stroking her hair. "I wish I didn't have to go."

She leaned her head against his warm chest, closed her eyes. "So long as you come back. . ."

"Don't I always?"

~*~  
Malakai hurried to Aro's chambers, thinking the whole time how crazy he was for not thinking of this before, and how crazier still for thinking he could pull it off.

"What is it you want this time, Makki?" Aro said languidly from amongst his pile of pillows, setting down his magazine. "I'm very busy."

"The hell you are. Listen, I have an idea."

"We're not going to kill her, Makki. She's worth too much."

"No, I mean a new idea."

Aro picked up his magazine again. "Then by all means."

"Christmas is coming up."

"Ah. That explains why Felix was humming Jingle Bells all morning. What of it?"

"I was thinking, wouldn't it be great if, as your Christmas present to me, I could take Bella out for a little Christmas cheer."

Aro laughed, a high, shrill cackle. "Why on earth would I allow you to do that?"

Malakai knelt at the edge of the pillows. "It would be good for morale."

"Whose morale?"

"Specifically mine, but I guess it wouldn't do any harm to Bella's either. Aro, I'm telling you, I'm not meant to live underground like some kind of shrew. My whole existence depends on people fawning over me."

"But not Bella's. Take someone else. Felix would be more than delighted—."

"But I don't want Felix. He's loud and obnoxious, and he scares everyone away. In other words, he doesn't make very good arm candy. At least Bella's somewhat attractive now that she's stopped starving herself. And besides, I'm sick of seeing her wear the same thing every day. I want to get her something nice. A little positive reinforcement, if you will."

"Buy whatever you want for you, I don't care, but she's not leaving the complex."

"Aro!" Malakai cried. "You're missing the point! I wouldn't be asking you for something like this on a whim. Please, I deserve more credit than that."

"If this isn't some whim of yours, what, pray tell, is it?"

"A new, well thought out angle to accomplish your objective."

"I'm listening."

~*~  
The storm cleared some time before breakfast, and by noon the wind had died down, though the arctic chill remained. Luke and Annabell spent the morning indoors, exploring some of the mansion's lesser known features. Luke took her around to the various-sized ballrooms Malakai liked to rent out to brides-to-be, the hundred seat movie theater on the second floor, complete with antique popcorn popper, and the private aquarium he had installed in the old servant's quarters in the basement. Then, when they had run out of secret passageways and old portraits, they took a tour of the grounds, which were stunning no matter what season. Annabell insisted on a snowman, but quickly found it was more fun pelting Luke with snowballs instead. They ran around chasing each other like schoolchildren, Luke missing on purpose on occasion, Annabell never missing at all, until they had both turned quite blue from the cold. Two steaming mugs of hot chocolate waited for them in the kitchen, and after a brief lunch, they found themselves in the library. It was a large room, some thousand square feet, but it was packed with so many bookcases with with so many books and knickknacks that there was hardly room to move.

Luke, who always felt claustrophobic when he stayed too long, found refuge in the lone leather armchair and contented himself to watching Annabell peruse the shelves. She paused from time to time, finding a book with an interesting title or pretty binding, but never lingered long. "Luke found himself dozing off when Annabell's laughter drew his attention.

"Wait a minute, _this_ guy? You're friends with _this_ guy?" She held up a black and white of Malakai and FDR she found propped up against a first edition of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. "I _know _this guy."

Luke came up behind her to see what she was talking about. His heart nearly stopped when he saw what picture she was holding, but Annabell hadn't seemed to have noticed who Malakai was sharing the shot with. "Who, Kai? You met him?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "On my first day of work."

"Really?" He took the picture from her and found it a new home, safely hidden under the old almanac.

"Yeah. He's sort of . . . eccentric, isn't he?"

"If by eccentric you mean he's an ass, then yes, he's very eccentric."

She giggled. "Hey, maybe you can settle a bet for us."

Luke took her by the hand and the two of them left the library. "What's that?"

"Well, since he travels so frequently and everyone seems to know who he is, there's a rumor going around that he's gay."

Luke dropped her hand.

"A lot of the guys I work with wouldn't mind if he was—why are you looking at me with that face?" She took his hand again with trepidation, thinking she had hit a nerve. "It was started mostly as a joke anyway; I think Nigel has had his eye on him for a while."

"What? No. Sorry," Luke said, recovering quickly. "I was just surprised to hear you ask. He's not gay, I don't think."

"See, I didn't think so. Then again, I don't think my gaydar works very well; I didn't think Nigel was gay until someone told me he practically sneezes glitter." Annabell laughed uneasily, and looked for a way to change the subject. "If I'd known you were best friends with an egocentric billionaire, I might have agreed to go out with you sooner." She gave him a big grin. "How'd you two meet anyway?"

Luke was glad Parker came along when he did; he wasn't sure how he was going to answer her question without lying again.

"Pardon the intrusion, sir," the butler said, "but I'm afraid we must depart if we are to arrive at the airport on schedule."

Annabell looked up at Luke unhappily. "Already?"

"I'll be back before you know it." He bent down and kissed her cheek.

"Is Parker going with you?"

"I'm not sure." He looked toward the butler. "Are you, Parker?"

"Those were the Master's instructions, sir," he said with a slight tip of the head. "I took the liberty of calling Amanda. She should be along within the hour. I didn't think it right to leave the lady in the house all alone."

"Thank you, Parker."

"Not at all, sir." He bowed again. "And now I'm afraid we be on our way."

Luke looked back at Annabell. He didn't want to leave her. "I'll call you when I know what time I'll be coming back." He moved to kiss her again, but Annabell drew back, preferring to give him a sharp jab in the chest, "You owe me big time," and walked away before he could tell her goodbye.


	43. A Miserable Choice

**A Miserable Choice**

The full moon, just as Parker predicted, was stunning. Near dawn it dropped low in the sky, throwing long gnarled shadows among the thickets of bare-branched trees and bathed the snow-crusted gardens in milky light. A daring hare ventured from its burrow under the lilac bush, though the blooms had long withered. He was small and brownish with large hind legs and one ear. The Admiral had gotten a hold of him last summer. Malakai had wrestled him off not a moment too soon and the rabbit, who was forever grateful to him after that, would from time to time appear on the patio, looking for carrots. He went looking now. Finding none, he nibbled the yellowed tips of the hostas where they stuck out above the snow. His good ear swiveled this way and that, listening for danger.

A blood-chilling howl ripped across the yard.

Charles, or that was the name Malakai had given him, looked up with a start and sat absolutely still. His stub of an ear twitched uselessly.

A man yelled. Two shots were fired, followed by the cry of an animal in pain.

Charles had heard enough. Scared to his wits end, he dropped the bit of hosta and scampered out of sight.

Half a mile north, hidden beneath the snow in what Malakai liked to call "the bunker" a large—no, large wasn't the word. The thing was _huge—_white wolf, bleeding from the shoulder and whimpering in pain, lay panting on the cold concrete floor. Its eyes, black as a starless night, were as big as a man's palm and its paws were closer in size to a grizzly than any wolf.

"Next time it won't be your shoulder," Parker panted, brandishing his pistol at the beast should it think to lunge for him again.

The wolf whined pathetically, eyed him warily. Perhaps it was only a trick of the light, or old age had finally caught up to him, but Parker thought he saw a bit of Luke return. Somewhere beneath that matted white coat, the sharp fangs and flattened ears, Parker was sure the curse was beginning to loose its hold.

"Fucking werewolves," he added when he happened to look down and noticed blood seeping down the leg of his suit. He swore under his breath and limped painfully across the vault to the red FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY box bolted to the wall. He had just used the last of the bandages and pulled the flask from his jacket when Luke emerged, clothed in a threadbare robe and human with the exception of a few tufts of fur around his ears, looking frustrated and abashed. His shoulder had healed, leaving no trace of the wound but a small white scar, and that too was quickly disappearing.

"Sunrise already?" the old man inquired, taking a swig.

"Moonfall," Luke said when he remembered how to speak. It wasn't without effort that he shook his head when Parker offered him the bottle. "Sorry about the leg. You didn't have to stay, you know."

"That is unfortunately not so," the butler said, wiping his mouth and capping the flask. "The Master was very clear about the conditions for my, uh, pension. Making sure you do not escape and ruin the roses when the Master is away is one of them. I've had worse," he assured the young werewolf, though Luke looked far from reassured. "I expect you'll be wanted to get back to that girl of yours. Shall I fetch your things from the car?"

"Don't trouble yourself, Parker," Luke said hotly when the butler rose unsteadily to his feet. "I'll get them. I need the air anyway."

He dressed in the gathering light on the horizon, his breath rising in little tendrils into the still air. His shoulder ached dully and it took him a moment to remember why. He hardly ever remembered what he did or who he killed. They faded from his mind like the fading night, until it felt like a dream, forgotten upon waking. He sat in the passenger seat, pulling on his jeans, his sweater, his socks and coat, and had just laced his boots when he thought it might be best if he slept it off in the car. No, he thought in the next moment, Annabell was waiting.

He let himself in the kitchen door, crept through the still house up the stairs to his room. The door creaked when he pushed it open, whined when he pushed it shut. He saw Annabell, asleep amongst his sheets and pillows, and wanted to go to her. But he didn't dare, not just yet. He had never tried getting so close to someone so shortly after he phased back. He didn't feel safe. He lingered a moment by the door, wondering what part of him really wanted her and what part he wanted. When he could recognize that it wasn't Annabell he was after but a soft pillow and a few spare hours to sleep, he felt safe. Slowly and quietly, so as not to disturb her, he moved across the room and slid under the covers.

Annabell stirred. "Luke?" she mumbled sleepily. "What time is it?"

"Late," he said, his voice sounding foreign to him. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's all right," she yawned, rolling onto her side to look at him. "I wasn't really asleep. This stupid dog kept me up half the night with its incessant howling."

Luke said nothing.

She yawned again. "You're back earlier than I expected. Have a nice time?"

Luke shrugged, a gesture lost in the dark, and made no reply. He didn't want to be rude, he just didn't have the energy to discuss it now.

Annabell was too tired herself to notice. All she cared for was that he was back and she wouldn't have to sleep in this spooky house alone. She reached out for him, found his mouth and kissed him. "Love you."

It took a moment for Luke to register what she said. No one had ever told him they loved him. Well, no one except his mother, who did it because she had to. . . and Malakai. Who did it to annoy him. Neither counted in his mind. It surprised him. He thought for sure he had imagined it. She had never—they had never— But just when he realized yes, she had, and reached out for her in return, murmuring "Annabell. . ." she wasn't there, had left the bed, was across the room and nearly through the bathroom door when she broke into sobs. Luke laid there a moment longer, wondering why she was crying and what would be worse; staying where he was or going in after her. Whenever Kai threw a tantrum it was better not to give him the satisfaction of attention, but—Luke stopped that train of thought in its tracks. Why the hell was he comparing his girlfriend to Malakai? Disgusted with himself, he pushed his exhaustion to the back of his mind, rolled out of bed and plodded after her.

She was sitting on the toilet, her cheeks stained pink by the rosy light budding through the bathroom window, one hand over her mouth to stifle the noise as her whole body shuddered with sobs. He had never seen her so distressed. "Annabell," he said, kneeling at her feet. She looked away from him. "What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry," she whispered when she could swallow past the lump in her throat.

"For what?" he asked, bewildered.

She swiped a hand across her face, hoping to dry her eyes, but the action only made her cry more. "I didn't mean to. I don't know why I said it—I mean, of course I know why. I just. . . I don't know. . . I didn't mean. . ." She struggled to find the right words and Luke had lost them completely. He knelt before her, watching her eyes though they would not meet his, and kept thinking over and over _Didn't mean to say it or didn't mean it?_

Annabell was talking again, mumbling almost too quietly for Luke to hear. "I know we agreed from the beginning we were going to keep this casual. I was excited about it. Everything in my life seemed so serious; I needed something casual." She started to tremble. "But look at me! I'm crying! I never cry."

"You never cry," he agreed.

"And I liked you a lot," she went on, as if he had never spoken. "You were very . . . cool. Very . . . different." She rung her hands steadied her breath. "It was a number of weeks ago, I think. Ashley and I were chatting before the flight boarded, and I couldn't stop talking about you. There wasn't a single sentence I said that didn't contain the word Luke. I didn't even notice until she started laughing. I asked her what was so funny and she said . . . something like 'I'd never thought I'd live to see the day when you fell in love.' And I just stood there, staring at her. I just . . . Do you know I've taken more time off this year alone than I have in the last eight combined."

Luke shook his head. He hadn't known that, hadn't asked for or expected it, but it made him happy.

She sighed heavily, stressed and strained, feeling. . . she didn't know how she felt. Vulnerable was the first word that came to mind. It seemed plausible. She was struck with the strange and unexplainable need for his approval, as if her existence, in this moment, depended entirely on the man sitting at her feet. Maybe she really did love him. "And it's not like I haven't said it before," she went on, feeling a little braver. "I have. Especially to my mother, who I really only moderately tolerate most of the time. And Robert, I suppose, but—" Here she had to stop. The lump in her throat had returned. But it was getting easier, this confession. The more she talked, how ever convoluted it was, the more she wanted to say. She made an effort to look at him. He appeared attentive, eager perhaps, and obedient, like an affectionate puppy. But his stoic silence frightened her and she thought for a moment it would do better to say no more. Then he smiled, as if to encourage her, and her fear vanished. "But . . . I've never actually _meant_ it before now." Her breath caught in her throat. "And it terrifies me."

She waited for him to say something, but his silence continued, filling the bathroom until she felt her heart might burst.

At last Luke spoke. He had wanted to speak from the beginning, tell her at once that she wasn't alone in her feelings, wrap her in his arms. But propriety held him back. It wasn't fair, happy as he was to learn she loved him back, for him to have her heart, for her to bear her soul to him when he could never show her his. Was one such as he allowed such happiness? And what would happen if he should tell her the truth? In his mind there were only two options: She would become afraid and leave him, whereupon the hole in his heart would never heal. Or she would love him still and stay, whereupon he was bound to kill her eventually. It was a miserable choice. And the same, he reckoned, Malakai had had to choose for Clara. Malakai had always put up a good facade, but Luke knew. He heard him roaming about the house from time to time, talking to himself when he thought Luke was sleeping. He pined for her still, wished and unwished he had taken her for himself. Then, even if they were miserable, they would have been miserable together. Anything was better than this insufferable loneliness.

So Luke kept silent, waging war with himself as Annabell spilled her words on the bathroom floor. _I love you_. And then he was smiling despite himself. The aching in his heart ripped it in two and Annabell, tears welling and lips quivering, put it back together. He leaned over, utterly happy, kissed her passionately and said "I should have told you sooner." He kissed her again. He had lied to her too many times already, and he knew he would be lying if he said nothing now. "I've been in love with you for months."

~*~  
Malakai left Aro's chambers feeling depressed. Which was rather peculiar as he had gotten exactly what he wanted. He should have been excited, ecstatic; he had just persuaded the most feared vampire in modern history to do the one thing he swore he would never do. It was a great achievement, Malakai knew, but he could rouse himself to be no more than indifferent. He supposed he should share the good news with Bella, it seemed the appropriate course of action, but he couldn't bring himself to go down there again. That same powerful urge to quit this place and go home, to Luke, returned, put a lump in his throat, and the reality of what he was doing—what he was going to do—came crashing down.

What the hell was he thinking trying to pull the wool over Aro's eyes? Surely he had a death wish. His head was screaming at him _This is suicide! Get out. Screw the girl and get out. _He was tempted. He went so far as to turn around and walk away, away from Bella, away from his so-called duty. No one stopped him. No one asked what he was doing or where he was going. He reached the elevator, unseen and unnoticed. He stood a moment before it, contemplating his fate, knowing he had only to press a button and the car would come, shuttle him up, and set him free.

He pushed the button.

Still no one came to stop him.

The car arrived, sliding open with a soft _ding_. He held his breath, sure he would find Felix on the other side. But the carriage was empty.

Still no once came.

The door slid noiselessly shut and the car sailed up the shaft, silent and empty.

Malakai remained behind, having no idea why. Every fiber of his being yearned to be on that car and yet he had been unable to move. Maybe his conscience still worked after all. Though it was just as likely that he had suddenly turned into a coward. Maybe Carlisle's morality talks had finally gotten to him. Or it could just be his hopeless romantic side was showing again. He patted down his pockets. He wanted a smoke and remembered too late he didn't have any. He heaved a sigh, sulked away from the elevator, and returned to his room.

It was all Luke's fault, he decided. He had been perfectly fine until Luke called. _Girlfriend,_ floated through his mind. _Two years. _Malakai sighed again. It was entirely plausible he felt so wretchedly dejected because he knew Lucas was having sex without him. No, he decided in the next instant, he wasn't that shallow. Well, maybe a small part of him was jealous Luke was getting laid when he wasn't, but most of him was glad Luke had finally found a life beyond their friendship that made him happy. Luke liked to pretend Malakai drove his girlfriends away because he couldn't "accept the fact that my life doesn't exist solely for your benefit!" Luke yelled whenever his latest relationship ended. But it wasn't true. Malakai was an expert at reading people, and he took special pride in his ability to read Luke. So it was no surprise that he quickly noticed a pattern. The more Luke went out of his way to introduce his new "girlfriend"—and the sooner he did it—the less he actually liked her. Malakai was only doing him a favor. That wasn't to say he didn't misunderstand what Luke was doing. He wanted a life, a normal one, one where his curse didn't define who he was. He was desperate to hold on to his humanity any way he knew how. Malakai empathized completely. Any civilized vampire went through something similar, grieving their lost mortality. Malakai remembered his with more clarity than he cared to.

It was early on in his new life, the third year he and Carlisle traveled abroad. They stopped over in Greece for the summer and when Carlisle left him to hunt for something substantial on the mainland, the post caught up to them. There was one letter. A christening announcement. He didn't know why it turned his stomach so. He knew Clara was pregnant when he set sail last fall. He knew she would eventually have to give birth to the thing. Benjamin Fitzwilliam Richard Harrison Pearce. Born February 15, 1846.

_Benjamin after my great-uncle,_ the letter said.

That was a lie, he knew. To use his first name would have drawn too much attention and too many whispers, but Benjamin was common enough and no one bothered to remember his full name* anyway. Ben was supposed to be his. Clara was supposed to be his.

He read the letter again and again, wept bitterly through the afternoon and into the evening and for four days, the length of Carlisle's absence, did not move from his chair. He would not return to Brookshire Place for over fifteen years, would have rather been anywhere else. And so he went anywhere else, taking Carlisle with him. He tried to forget her, tried to pretend he could be happy if she was, but it was all a sham. He kept flashing back to that moment—_the_ moment—when she had nearly been his.

Two summers before his death, at the Durham's last ball of the season, he persuaded her to snub the second half of her dance card and take a walk in the garden with him instead. They walked under the light of the stars, and, though the night was warm, Clara insisted on his arm. They talked idly of the weather, the drab guests and the fine champagne and walked in a comfortable silence when they ran out of pleasantries. They walked twice round the garden, arm in arm, and had just started a third lap when Malakai suggested they find somewhere to sit. Clara pointed to a stone bench hidden by the roses and so they say, their hands touching. They talked of this and that for a few minutes more until Malakai turned to her, smiling, and said "Miss Greene, why aren't we married?"

Clara withdrew her hand. "That would be because, Mr. Ross, you have not yet asked me."

"Would you say yes if I did?"

Clara considered her answer carefully. "No."

His brow darkened. "Because my father disapproves?"

"With good reason," she atested. "I have little dowry to speak of, and my family is not from nobility as yours is. You can do better."

"I don't want to do better." Truly, he had come to despise his title and what was expected of him because of it. "To hell with what my father thinks. Let him write me out of my inheritance. I've no need of it anyhow."

She looked at him sadly. He knew what she would say.

"Clara—" he pleaded, taking her hand, though already he could hear his heart breaking.

"Malakai," she cut in sharply but not unkindly, always the voice of reason, "people are beginning to talk."

"Let them," he said, foolishly. "All the more reason my father should give us his blessing."

His remark was met by a lingering silence. "Well," she said at last, faintly smiling, "as you seem determined as ever to have your way, I think it is only fair that I tell you I have no intention of marrying anyone else—"

Unable to contain himself, he kissed her, not knowing it would be the last time.

The memory faded. He didn't like to remember the rest. It ended unhappily. He'd nearly worn his father down when his mother took ill. "Let him marry the poor girl, darling," she beseeched him on her deathbed. But the funeral ended and when Malakai asked a final time, the answer was the same. And then it was not Clara on his mind, but blood. He had no way of knowing that in the three years he had gone missing everyone thought he was dead, nor that no one grieved as deeply as Clara. She thought _he_ had left _her. _And now it looked like Luke would be leaving him, too. He certainly had every right to. Malakai had no claim to him, just as he had no claim to Clara. Maybe this time, he thought, if one of them could be happy it would be enough. . .

There was a knock at his door.

"Go away."

Marcus entered. "I thought I might find you sulking in here," he said. "May I come in?"

Malakai narrowed his eyes. He had half a mind to tell him no, get the hell out, but he wasn't even in the mood to do that. "Of course," he said instead.

Marcus came and sat in the chair beside him. "I have something for you," he announced and retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the depths of his cloak and tossed it to him. "Merry Christmas."

Malakai caught it reflexively. "What's this for?" he asked, looking the box over. It was his brand, which surprised him because he didn't know Marcus knew he smoked and he only knew of one shop in London that still sold them.

"You looked like you could use one."

He tapped one out then offered the box to Marcus who shrugged and help himself.

"You're welcome," the ancient said after they had smoked in silence for a time.

Malakai tore his brooding eyes from the floor. "Didn't I say thank you?"

Marcus tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette, watched it hit the floor with mild fascination, cleared his throat, said "Malakai," and didn't know how to continue. Malakai looked bored, like he knew where the conversation was headed already. This did little to encourage Marcus. "Malakai, you know I like to consider you a close personal friend. . ."

"Naturally," said the younger vampire, puffing away.

". . . And I hope that you can think of me as a friend whenever you need one."

"Do I need one, Marcus?"

Marcus stamped out his half-spent cigarette underfoot. "It's no secret I am fond of you, Malakai. As such, I consider it my duty to warn you when you are about to do something stupid."

"Have I done something stupid? I knew I should have gone with the leather interior. . ." he muttered, evading as usual.

"Of course you know of my ability to sense relationships and thus where a person's loyalties lie," Marcus said at length. He detected a faint tremor in Malakai's hand as he said it. "Have I ever told you how it works?"

"Should I feel hurt that you haven't?" he asked casually.

"I find it rather fascinating. It's nothing I see or hear, but I have only to think of a name—Felix, for instance—and I feel, briefly, what you feel."

"Intense dislike?"

"Contempt and a subtle tinge of malice. It is through this that I am able to gauge bonds between individuals." He paused. "It has always been a great challenge reading you," he admitted, "you who are rarely loyal to anyone beyond your own mother. You hate—and I do mean hate_—_Aro, yet admire him. It is a contradiction I have never understood. And you disdain Felix, who absolutely adores you. Lucas, of course, is another matter entirely. Your relationship with him is . . . tumultuous, to say the least."

"And let that be all you say."

Marcus smiled a little. "Our strongest bonds pull on us. Lucas pulls on you. They are the ones we see all the time. Spouses, children, lovers, and so on. Similarly, the friends we haven't seen in a while fall into the background. Howard, for example. You have no attachment to him any longer."

"This is all extremely fascinating, Marcus, truly," Malakai cut in irritably. "What's your point?"

"You have not been forthcoming with us," he said after a pause. "You're here for Carlisle."

Malakai started.

"I couldn't quite put my finger on it when you first arrived. The feeling of obligation. It seemed strange as the two of you haven't spoken since your falling out. You have been to see him recently, haven't you? You're planning to steal the girl for him, aren't you?"

The young vampire opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He could only stare in horror.

"I thought as much," Marcus said grimly. He looked about him, making sure they were alone and asked in a tone so serious that Malakai was sure he was joking, "What can I do to help?"

* * *

*Kai's full name is Malakai Fyodor Benjamin Ross. Fyodor for his mother's father, who was half-Russian, and Benjamin for his father's father who was not. (Fyodor is just a Russian variation of Theodore. Which makes it cooler.)


	44. Into the Fire

**Into the Fire**_  
Malakai_

I was dumbfounded—not to mention mortified—that _Marcus_ had been the one to see through it all. I sat there staring at him with my mouth agape longer than I should have. "W,why?" I stammered.

His answer was slow coming. "We both know what it's like, having the person we love most taken from us."

I exhaled a wreath of smoke, looked at the tiny smoldering thing in my hand and threw it away, suddenly disgusted. Since when did I smoke? Since when did Marcus get all sentimental? "Bullshit," I said, getting out of my chair like I meant to walk away, but having no place to go, I sat down again. "Don't you dare suggest I have anything in common with that. . .that _thing_ down in the basement."

"But you do," he said plainly and I could feel his eyes on me. I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. "Felix has never forgiven himself for taking you away from Clara."

"To hell with Felix!" I shouted

"And you have never forgiven him either. It is not only your duty to Carlisle that compels you; it is your love for Clara as well. And it pains you, as it pains me, to see something so unjustly cruel."

I rolled my eyes. I didn't buy it. "Why are you really doing this?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I admire your courage, I suppose. It's out of character for you, being so self-sacrificing. I know I couldn't talk you out of it even if I wanted to."

"You could. Really," I said, sounding hysterical. "Please. I wish you would."

He only smiled that strange barely there smile of his. "I've been waiting years for an opportunity to ruin Aro's day, and this is far better than anything I could have concocted." He shrugged again. "I have long felt Bella is far more trouble than she is worth. And, on top of that, I have nothing to do tomorrow."

_So you would induce Aro's wrath out of boredom?_ I thought, shaking my head. Well, I suppose I'd done worse for less. All the same, I was suspicious. Marcus, the apathetic, yes-of-course-Aro-whatever-you-want-Aro, manic depressive was taking _my_ side? Helping _me?_ No. The universe wouldn't allow it.

"Actually," he said after a pause, "If I may be quite honest. Aro wishes me to accompany the pair of you. He is quite convinced you are going to play some kind of practical joke on him. Quite frankly," he was saying, "now that Chelsea has joined Caius in Egypt, I couldn't give a shit what Aro wants from me."

I'm not exactly sure how it happened or why I agreed, but somehow or other Marcus ending up tagging along. He tagged along when I braved the depths of the dungeon to inform the imprisoned princess of the good news:

"Out?" she asked dumbly. "Outside?"

_No_, I wanted to say, rolling my eyes, outer space. God would I be glad to be done with her when this was over. If I ever saw her again it would be too soon. "Yes," I said, managing to keep the sarcastic remarks to myself. "I'll be back to collect you in an hour. Try to . . . look decent." I turned to leave and bumped into Marcus. I glared at him. He looked mildly irritated back and tagged along behind me when I returned to my room.

"I see she still thinks you're here for Aro," he commented while I picked through my sparse wardrobe looking for the least wrinkled shirt I had: pale purple with a faint plaid pattern, my least favorite

"Do you mind?" I said as I began unbuttoning the white one I had been wearing all week.

"Why have you not told her?" he asked, staring steadily the entire time I dressed.

I pulled on a fresh pair of black socks and nearly laughed. "Are you kidding?" I sneered, lacing up my old lavender Converse. "She a terrible actress. If I had we'd be dead already."

Aro met us outside Bella's cell. Felix flanked him, looking decidedly unhappy.

"I trust you will return her at a reasonable hour," was all Aro said, sounding like I was some horny school boy ensconcing with his precious daughter to the prom. He reached for me. I knew he meant to see my thoughts and I had run out of reasons to deny him. I saw the hand coming toward me, reaching out as if in slow motion and I braced myself, anticipating his fingers on my skin, fearing the worst. But it never came. Marcus had intercepted him, calling his attention elsewhere, taking care not to touch him. I could do nothing to hide the relief on my face.

Felix looked at me, an expression on his face I had never seen before. He stood looming over me, biting his lip and glancing fervently between Aro and myself. I got the impression he wanted to tell me something and couldn't. How cute. He was worried. "Well?" I said impatiently. He took out a key, unlocked Bella's cell door, drew her out, and handed her to me. I reached to take her, feeling strangely powerless to do anything else, and he grabbed me, his monster hand clenched around my forearm, rendering me immobile. Don't do it, his eyes said.

I wanted to hear him say the words aloud. I very well may have listened had he had the courage. But he didn't, as I knew he wouldn't. So, feeling I had gone too far to turn back now, I wrenched my arm free, seized the girl by the wrist, and dragged her toward the steps. It was that easy.

So there we were, the three of us, rocketing over a fresh layer of snow in the rusted relic of an ancient Ford truck. It was the saddest excuse for a vehicle I had even been forced to drive. Marcus sat in the passenger seat, chatting amiably of the weather. Bella was confined to the cramped back seat. I kept waiting for her to shatter the back window, tuck and roll out of my life. But she didn't. She sat there, silent and sullen.

I had no idea where we were going. I just picked a direction (southeast) and drove. For six hours. Bella hardly uttered a single syllable and Marcus wouldn't stop talking. Finally I couldn't take it any longer. I hit the brakes. The car squealed to an icy stop somewhere in northern China.

"Get the fuck out of the car," I said.

I could feel them both staring at me.

"To whom-?" Marcus asked.

"Both of you!" I yelled.

They continued to stare.

"Get out!"

The passenger door creaked open and Marcus stepped out into the bitter wind. Bella followed like some stupid . . . God! I couldn't even think of something to compare her to!

I sat for a minute gripping the steering wheel while the truck rumbled around me. How easy would it be, I thought, to take off and leave them here? Not very, I decided. Knowing my luck, this stupid piece of junk would stall out on me before I could go ten feet. I sighed, slid out of my seat, leaving the engine running. I met them at the front of the car, my eyes squinting against the blowing snow. I told her everything. In words half obscured by the wind, I told her about Lucas, what he had done to me, my desperate search for Carlisle, how I had found him and how he could do little to help me. How Aro wanted me for a special project, how that projected ended up being married to Carlisle's son. How I couldn't say no.

I reached inside my jacket, pulled out an envelope— "Give this to Carlisle would you?" —and a torn and hastily folded piece of yellow notebook paper. "Fu owes me a favor," I explained. "He's expecting you in Beijing before nightfall. One of his lackeys will put you on a flight home."

She stared at me stupidly.

I pressed the paper into her hand. "I can buy you three or four hours. Make the most of it."

"But won't Marcus—"

"Don't worry about him."

She looked panicked. "What about you?"

I was three seconds away from changing my mind. Why did she choose _now_ to think of someone other than herself? "Just get out of here would you!"

She took the envelope from me, looked around apprehensively, thinking this must be a joke and Aro would descend upon us any moment. But when the moment passed and nothing happened, she glanced one final time up at me, no doubt wondering why I was doing this, and turned southward.

I sighed. I knew I was going to regret this.

Marcus cleared his throat behind me. I turned. "Can't wait to hear you talk yourself out of this one," he said.

"You and me both," I muttered, feeling as grim as Marcus looked.

We watched her shrink against the horizon until she was swallowed by a flurry of snow and melted out of sight for good—and hopefully forever. Whatever fallout would come of this I would gladly take it so long as I could be guaranteed never to see her again. We stood in the snow long after she disappeared, hands in our pockets, ignorant of the blizzard blowing up around us.

"Now what?" Marcus's voice sound distant, distorted in the wind.

"I don't know," I heard myself say. "I didn't expect it to be so easy."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," he observed glumly.

I nodded, not bothering to tell him he'd gotten the expression turned around. He was probably right either way. But I'd take the fire over the frying pan any day. Especially if that frying pan happened to be Bella.

"Do you not plan to follow her?"

I brushed the snow from my face and shoulders and turned to him again. "Should I?"

"That I cannot tell you. On the one hand, if you stay behind and return with me, Aro will surely kill you for such treason. On the other, if you flee with her, he will surely track you down and kill you both."

"Rather a miserable choice."

Marcus took a step toward me, put a hand on my shoulder. "I told Felix of your plan."

I jumped out of his grasp. "What!"

"In hopes that he would take your side—"

"No!" I yelled. "In hopes that he would tell Aro! Marcus! What the hell were you _on!_"

"—if faced with the choice to end your life or save it." He paused. I bridled. "It goes without saying Aro inevitably found out."

"Yeah," I grumbled. "Felix told him."

"Not voluntarily," he snapped. "Lucky for you, Aro chose to see it as some juvenile and misguided show of heroism and ordered me to talk you out of it."

"Which you could have," I reminded him.

"But chose not to. Ultimately, I am more to blame than you."

"Aro won't see it that way."

"True. Then again, I was betting on his fondness for you, but in the process I may have overlooked his tendency to overreact. I suppose we will soon find out."

"Soon?"

From the recesses of his cloak, Marcus pulled out a jumble of black plastic and wire and passed it to me. I surveyed it stupidly—It looked like the broken remnants of a tiny microphone, the kind the FBI used in the 70s—and looked at him for an explanation. "Forgive me," he said. "Aro was very insistent. If I had refused we would never have made it this far."

"But it's in a million pieces," I said stupidly.

He nodded. "I didn't think he needed to hear you confess your true motives to Bella. I would imagine we have little time before he becomes suspicious."

"And? We're six hours by car. Bella could be in the States by then."

"If only we had that much time."

"What do you mean?"

He looked troubled now. "Alan, one of our newer recruits, has the extremely useful gift of teleportation. It would take but seconds—"

There was a faint pop—faint only because the wind raged so loudly—and suddenly four looming shadows stood before us. Two I recognized. The tall, formidable shape of Felix, the petite and equally frightening shape of Jane. I had trouble discerning which of the remaining two figures was Aro and which was this Alan person. Not that I planned to hang around long enough to find out.

Marcus pushed me behind him. "Aro—" he began.

"Where is the girl?" Aro's voice sliced the wind like a chainsaw. Neither of us answered, though now I knew the one on the left was Alan. "Where is she!"

"She has been taken care of," Marcus said, very resolute.

"Like hell she has!" Aro screeched, advancing upon us. "I want her back and I want her now!"

"That is, I am afraid, impossible, Aro—"

Aro struck him so hard he went flying, landing twenty yards away in a puff of snow. Eyes narrowing to mere slits, Aro set his sights on me. I swallowed. "And I had such high hopes for you," he said.

I raised my hands palm up and backed away slowly. "Now, Aro," I said, panicked. My eyes flicked desperately toward Marcus, who was just getting to his feet, then back at Aro. "Let's talk about this."

"Give me the girl."

"I haven't got her. She jumped out of the car and took off. I wanted to go after her, but Marcus said—"

"Enough of your lies!" he screamed. "Jane!" he called to the tiny girl. She stepped to his side, looking much too happy, leaving Felix behind, looking wide-eyed and scared.

"Aro!" I pleaded, trying to reason with him. "Come now. I'm sure we can—"

Aro gave her the signal and Jane, smirking ear to ear, fixed me with a look I knew all too well.

I twisted in pain and dropped to my knees, gasping. It felt like someone had dealt me a quick blow to the diaphragm. Repeatedly. I could scarcely breathe. Voices shouted above me. I couldn't make out what was said or who said it. The pain was too much. Every nerve ending in my body felt like it was on fire, like someone dunked me in kerosene and lit a match. The last thing I saw before I blacked out from the pain was Bella hurtling toward us at an impossible speed and I remember thinking _My God, I've killed us all._


	45. Epilogue

**Epilogue**_  
Malakai_

I don't remember exactly when I knew I wasn't dead. I became aware of someone breathing beside me and, slowly, I felt my own chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Then, slower still, feeling trickled down my body, into my limbs, and I remembered I _had _limbs. I felt heavy, leaden, strange, prickly. I was stiff all over, like I had been left too long in the cold and was just beginning to thaw. My throat was dry, swollen, like I had mistaken the cotton balls for cotton candy. My head hurt. My heart, though dead and unbeating, felt heavy in my chest. My very bones ached with a longing so primitive and base my hazy mind couldn't give it a name. For one crazy second I thought I was in Wisconsin, that I had had another migraine, that the last few months of my life had been nothing more than a hellish nightmare, that any second Carlisle would come swooping in, genuine concern etched into his brow, a flood of glowing compassion when he saw I had awoken. But it wasn't Carlisle who sat at my side, breathing in a conspicuously human way, heart beating calmly beneath warm skin. Skin, I realized, warmed by blood.

I stirred.

"Oh! You're awake!" a soft feminine voice exclaimed, heart fluttering. "I'll get Luke," the soothing voice told me. I felt her rise from her bedside perch, tiptoe from the room. I wanted to stop her, raise a hand and detain her, make her give me what I needed. But my mind was too fuzzy, my body too heavy to do more than twinge the tips of my fingers. It was almost too much to even open my eyes.

I saw I was in my room. _How could that be?_ I wondered. I scanned the expansive space, looking for something to give it away, discredit it. But it was all there. The gold gilt mirror over the over-sized chest of drawers with its one chipped handle. The threadbare Persian rugs draped across the dark cherry floor, hiding the char mark where I had attempted to light the house on fire. The bank of south-facing windows with the disintegrating drapes I had never had the courage to replace. The huge canopy bed with its dozens of pillow, never used until now. It was all here. I felt a knot bob in my throat and closed my eyes.

"'Bout time you were up," a gruff voice boomed. My eyes flew open, turned blearily on the familiar shape of Luke. He was half-smiling. I tried to grin back but couldn't quite manage the gesture. I felt too sad. There was a strange longing in the pit of my stomach. I wanted him to touch me. Hug me. Something. _Anything_. I needed to feel real, anchored to something rather than floating around inside my own head. But Luke didn't hold me. He barely touched me, his fingers hardly grazing mine when he deposited a slim silver flask in my open palm. My fingers closed around it automatically, my eyes burning. His rejection stung me.

"It's O negative," he explained when the flask remained limp in my hand. "I thought you might need it."

I trembled. I did need it. But I needed a hug more and I didn't understand why he couldn't see that. I had missed him, dammit, despite what he'd done to me, and I wanted to know we could be what we were before all this nonsense happened. But he just stood there, his large onyx eyes staring passively, as if he were bound to stay out of a sense of duty and nothing more, like a nurse impatiently waiting for her invalid to take his pills so she could finally take her lunch break.

"Hey," he said, the first note of concern in his voice, putting a hand on my head and tipping it back so he could look at me. "You all right?"

I blinked at him, nodded slowly. "Fine," I lied, my voice rough and dry. "Tired is all."

He nodded, believing me, released my head and said "Carlisle said you might be. You'll feel better after some fresh blood." He indicated the flask I was still mulling over in my lap. I looked down at it. He was probably right; this melancholy could just be my hunger talking. I unscrewed the cap and sucked the canister dry, then held it out for more.

Luke's countenance warmed, amused with me. He smirked, took the flask and left. I was disappointed when he sent Parker in with a refill instead. The old man had aged considerably since I last saw him. His hair had gone white at the roots, his face looked haggard, and he walked with a limp.

I was washed and dressed and force-fed blood until I thought I might burst. And though the haze lifted from my mind, my mood did not improve. If anything I felt worse. It felt like I was watching myself on tape, like I could see myself doing all of these things-getting dressed, lacing my Converse, listening to Parker complain about his leg-but I had no control over my actions. I felt helpless.

I was herded downstairs to the drawing room, my inner turmoil masked by the soft gray wools Parker had put me in.

Marcus and Felix were seated around a roaring fire. For some reason it didn't surprise me to find them in my house. They were quite changed. For the first time in all the years I had known him, Felix, finally, looked completely at ease. He had always been rather easy-going and playful, but he always stood a little too straight, walked a little too stiffly for it to be believable. And Marcus! He looked a thousand years younger! Gone was the unshapely black bed sheet. In its place were light trousers of navy wool and a close knit sweater in soft maroon. His shoulder-length black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, accentuating his angular nose and hollow cheeks. He was nearly unrecognizable.

Parker announced me then bowed to quit the room. Before he could turn I touched his arm. "Bring Luke," I told him. He tipped his head obediently and left without another word/

I had hardly sat down when Marcus launched into a lengthy description of what I had missed:

Aro, in his fury, had commanded Felix to relieve me of my head, but Felix, due to his great paternal love, couldn't do it. So Aro, incensed, ordered Jane to do it instead. Jane never hesitated. But then Bella, in her brilliant stupidity, came sprinting up, intending to stop Jane from getting her hands on me, but all she managed to do was get her arm ripped off by the vindictive munchkin. Jane was just reaching for the other when Felix caught her in a chokehold and pulled. Aro, of course, was screaming his head off the entire time. So enraged was he, he never noticed Marcus, silent, apathetic Marcus, drift behind him. Suddenly the frozen tundra went quiet. It was over that quickly. Then, with my unconscious form slung over Felix's should like a sack of flour, and Bella struggling to recapture her arm which was having too much fun digging tunnels under the snow, (This didn't surprise me either. If I was forcibly attached to Bella and suddenly found myself free, I'd run like hell too), they found Alan cowering behind a snowbank and had him transport them to Brookshire. The only thing I was surprised to hear was that I had only been unconscious for three hours. It felt like three months.

"Luke called and explained the situation to Carlisle," Marcus was saying, "and Alan very obligingly brought them here."

I don't know at what point of the story Luke came in, but I suddenly felt him standing beside me and, reaching up an arm, I grabbed his elbow, forcing him to sit beside me.

"Wait, _what?_" he asked, not believing what Marcus said next. I could scarcely believe it myself. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Marcus echoed. "I feel it is for the best. Aro controlled too much for too long. Now that he is dead there is no sense in keeping the coven together. Alan is, as we speak, spreading news of the Volturi's dissolution to every major coven across the globe. Caius will of course be hunted and killed, I will slip blissfully into anonymity, and soon everyone will know the heroic story of the billionaire mogul who singlehandedly destroyed four thousand years of totalitarian rule in one afternoon."

I felt faint. "Marcus, you didn't." I wanted to object, but just then a timid young woman—who I guessed to be Annabell judging by the rapidity Luke left my side and bounded to hers—appeared at the door.

The conversation we had just been having ended. Felix made a passing remark about the weather and suddenly my head was swimming again. Luke called out to me. I knew I had no choice but to be introduced to this girl. I tried not to appear disinterested, gave them my blessing and told them they must at least use the house for the reception. This turned both their faces red because, I noticed too late there was no ring on her finger.

Alice came dancing in to save me from being reprimanded by Lucas and squealed with delight as her arms wrapped around my neck. I smiled a little. It was good to see her again. Soon the other Cullens started piling in behind her, thanking me, hugging me, smiling. I even got a kiss from Esme and a firm handshake from Jasper. Edward was next, looking happier than I had ever seen him, escorting Bella by the hand (she had two again). They didn't have to say anything. The look in their eyes was enough. Then Carlisle who had never smiled so warmly at me before, Esme back for another kiss, and Jacob and the half-human girl who was just as tall as her mother and twice as pretty.

I saw Luke drape an arm around Annabell's waist, duck to kiss her cheek before guiding her discreetly from the room. To protect her innocent ears, I told myself. But just then I saw that it wasn't my bones that ached but my soul. Because, amid all this joy, this love, the smiles, the hugs and warm touches, I was alone.


	46. Sequel News!

Well, my sequel seems to have turned into a prequel. Be that as it may, you can read it here: .net/s/7562803/1/The_Affair

Still a work in progress, of course, but I hope you enjoy it!


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